Kiss from a Rose
by Chrys-Moony-Marauder
Summary: Angelina has spent the year since Voldemort's fall hiding from the rest of the world and drowning in her own remorse. But what happens when she finally decides to overcome her fears and reach out to an old friend? Maybe he was just what she needed.
1. An Old Friend

_**A/N: Hi, folks. This is my first fic… well, sort of. I was inspired to write this on behalf of my favorite (now canon) ship: Georgelina. There weren't too many of these floating around, so I thought I'd add my two cents worth of fiction. I'm always up for constructive criticism, so please, let me know what you like and don't like about the fic. The title was indeed inspired by Seal's lovely (and fitting song). With that, enjoy! And review.**_

Disclaimer: I do not own any places or characters recognizable from the Harry Potter series. All such characters and places are the property of J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter One: An Old Friend**

A gray sky loomed mercilessly over the cold, deserted streets. Smart people had finished their shopping early and gone to take refuge in their homes, sensing the oncoming storm. It wasn't like she didn't know the storm was coming. But for her, there was no escape. Even if she managed to avoid the cold torrents of rain, they were waiting for her at home too. A locked door did nothing to block the cold, gray hopelessness swirling in her head and in her heart. And yet, she couldn't explain why she was here now. It seemed as though each echoing footstep brought her closer to another heartache, and her body knew it too. Each time her trainers slapped the pavement, her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and her heart fluttered in feeble protest. Everything in her was begging her to turn around, but still she was pulled irresistibly forward by an unseen and inexplicable force.

Her fingers grasped the cold metal of the door handle, and she froze. She wasn't sure she was ready to face what was on the other side of that door, and more importantly, she wasn't sure why she felt she needed to. She stood, paralyzed with indecision: unable to turn away, and yet unable to move forward. Then, a blinding pain knocked her backwards onto the pavement.

"So sorry! Are you okay? Let me give you a hand there." Through blurred vision, she saw a fiery red mop of hair lowering itself towards her. Then, cold flesh against her palm. As her vision evened out, she saw a pair of blue eyes widen in recognition. "Angelina! I'm sorry, I'd no idea it was you."

"Is that how you treat your customers?" Angelina mumbled, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She brushed herself off. "No harm done, Ron."

There was a long, awkward moment in which they stared at each other, so many unsaid things passing between them. The last time they'd seen each other had been at the height of the war against Voldemort. They had fought on the same side, but Ron was famous. He'd helped Harry Potter save the wizarding world. The awkward boy she'd coached in Quidditch seventh year was now a hero, but at a price. His brother had died in the battle, lost his life before he knew the end of Voldemort's reign. And Angelina had not been at the funeral.

"So…" Angelina said finally. "How's… the store?" That wasn't what she'd meant to say, and both of them knew it. Guilt hadn't let her ask how he was handling the grief, or what it was like living in the limelight, or how Harry and Hermione were. How could she, after her cowardice?

Luckily, Ron let her off the hook. "The store's great. We have this new kid-friendly line that's going to be out in time for the holidays. Should be a hit, especially with sales up from last month. But what brings you here?"

Angelina's throat ran dry. This was the question she'd been trying to ask herself since she'd left her flat to come to Diagon Alley. And though she didn't know what the answer was, she was relatively certain that she wouldn't want to give it to Ron Weasley. The whispering winds, the persistent silence, and the intensity of Ron's blue gaze all pressed her for an answer she was not able to give. Her gaze trailed to the ground. Finally, her lips parted, and she drew breath to speak.

The door swung open again at that point, and an equally fiery head of hair appeared in the open doorway. "I think we can start closing up now, Ron," the older man was saying, fishing a ring of keys from the pocket of his dragon leather jacket. "I don't think anyone else is coming today."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Ron said, grabbing the keys from his older brother. "I'll close up."

As Ron brushed past him and disappeared into the store, Angelina finally met George's startled gaze. His eyes were strangely hollow, but still endearingly familiar. His face was decorated with freckles and scars, and she couldn't help feeling a sense of loss as her eyes fell upon the hole in his face where his left ear should have been. A lot had changed, she thought. But a lot hadn't.

"Angelina," he said, his voice strangled with awe. "What're you doing here?"

"Seeing an old friend," she offered. She took a step forward, and before she knew it, he had swept her into his arms. The embrace confirmed everything she had feared: that he had needed her, that he still needed her, and she had abandoned him. Feeling disgusted with herself, she unwrapped herself from his arms.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he said emphatically.

"Yeah. Some friend, huh?" The wind blew her hair softly across her face, shielding her from the wilting fire in his eyes. She sighed and asked the question she knew she didn't want answered. "How are you holding up?"

At long last, he looked away from her, but his voice remained steady. "Doing what I can… I know he wouldn't have wanted me to waste all our potential mourning him." His lips widened slightly in a glum smile. "Still, it's been…." He the words hang heavy in the air, and Angelina was grateful he didn't speak the rest of them aloud. "How's it been for you?" he asked suddenly.

Angelina thought it unfair for him to ask her this question when he knew full well that she didn't deserve to answer it. Was he trying to guilt trip her? She nodded stupidly and took a step backwards. She shouldn't have come, she thought adamantly. She clutched at her purse.

"It's… going to rain," she said. With an apologetic smile, she turned to go. But she felt George's strong hand tighten around her arm.

"Angelina, wait." Gently, he pulled her back towards him, and she was forced to give him the courtesy of making eye contact again. Her eyes connected once more with the joltingly familiar brown eyes, to find that the old blaze had almost rekindled. "Don't go. I mean… don't disappear again. We should talk sometime. Promise me you'll send me an owl or something."

She smiled again and gently loosened his grip around her arm, cradling his palm between her fingers. "I promise," she said. She gave his hand a squeeze before she turned on the spot and disappeared.

"All done for the day," Ron said, stepping out of the store and turning to lock the door. "You sure you don't want to come home for the weekend? You know how Mum gets when you don't pop in from time to time."

"Yeah," George said slowly. "I'll stop by later. There's something I need to do."


	2. The Note

**_A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews on my first chapter. This chapter is in honor of the JKR documentary (which I just got around to watching last night), because I was ECSTATIC that George and Angelina actually did get married. (I win!) Anyway, it's a short chapter, so review so I can get the next one up ASAP. Also, if anyone has written anything they'd like me to check out, or if you have any recommendations, send 'em my way. (Yay for winter break!) That said, enjoy. And review._**

Disclaimer: Everything in the Potterverse is owned by J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter Two: The Note**

The quill hovered over a sheet of ink-stained parchment. Finally, Angelina dropped the quill from her trembling fingers and banged her forehead against the desk. This letter just wasn't going to get written. If only she could stop being such a bloody coward all the time.

"Now what's the problem?" said an impatient voice.

"I… I just can't do it, Alicia." She groaned in frustration, pressing her head back against the cold wooden desk. "What am I supposed to say?"

The pretty brunette rose from the bed and knelt next to her friend. "It's not that hard, Ange. Invite him over."

"Here?!" Angelina shrieked. "I can't invite him over here. Are you crazy?"

"Well I don't know, invite him out for coffee or something. But you promised you'd keep in contact. You already ran away from him once. If you didn't want to see him, you should have stayed away and let him forget you."

"I couldn't, Alicia. I mean, I've been a right coward. I pretty much skived off the funeral and didn't bother to check up on him. I had to do something to redeem myself."

"Well good," said Alicia. "Your conscience is in working order. So you've taken the first step by going to see him. It's time to take the next step. Stop dripping ink all over yourself and invite him to the Leaky Cauldron already. It's not as if he won't be in the area."

"Okay." Alicia had the uncanny ability to make Angelina make _herself_ feel guilty. She sighed and reached for the quill. "I'll keep it short and simple." She dipped the quill in ink again and scribbled a quick note.

_Dear George-_

_Leaky Cauldron next Saturday at noon?_

_Angelina_

"Who's it from, dear?" asked Molly Weasley, glancing at her son over the dishes. She looked wearier than ever—it was evident that the past year had taken a toll on her. Nevertheless, she bustled about washing the dinner dishes and putting the food away, carrying on as ever with the endless duties of a mother of six.

George looked up to find everyone at the table looking curiously at him. "No one," he said briskly, stashing the note away in his pocket. "It's nothing important."

He didn't know why he wanted to keep his reunion with Angelina a secret. But for some reason he felt that their post-Fred relationship was something new and private. Though he could tell he had piqued everyone's interest, no one dared press him for more information. It was as though he was some fragile piece of china now that Fred was gone, and everyone was afraid to shatter him into pieces. Slowly, his family returned to their meals, though their eyes burned with unasked questions.

All except Ron. Ron gave him a meaningful glance, letting George know he knew exactly who the letter was from. George neither affirmed nor denied his suspicions.

"Do you need help with the dishes, Mum?" he asked instead.

"Oh, thank you, George," said Mrs. Weasley, "but I'm just about finished here. Why don't you go on up to bed, dear? Goodness knows you could use a decent night's sleep."

"Actually," George said, stretching as he rose from the table, "I think I'm going to head back to London."

"Oh, George, don't. Are you sure you don't want to stay another night? I worry about you up there alone in Diagon Alley."

"I'll be fine, Mum. I promise, if old Tom from the Leaky Cauldron decides to resurrect the Dark Lord and starts branding followers with false teeth marks, you can send Ron right along."

"_Seriously_, George. You take care of yourself, and send us an owl if you need anything." She hugged her son tightly and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"_Mum_," George groaned.

"Oh, alright then. Go on."

He said goodbye to the rest of the family, pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the night. Within minutes, he was turning the lights on in his flat above the shop in Diagon Alley. Before he even sat down, he retrieved the note from his pocket and reread it. As his eyes rolled over each word, a great sense of relief spread through him. She hadn't forgotten. He couldn't explain why this meant so much to him. After all, she _had_ come to see him at the shop.

He grabbed the quill and bottle of ink that he'd left on the table and contemplated the piece of parchment before him. He wanted to say something about how grateful he was that she still wanted to see him… that he forgave her for not coming sooner… how he felt that she was one of the only people that might be able to ease a little of the burden he'd been carrying since the final battle….

_Angelina_

_See you Saturday._

_George_


	3. Firewhiskey

**_A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. Here's the next chapter. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!_**

Disclaimer: All fictional places and characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just drawing on them.

**Chapter Three: Firewhiskey**

Angelina glanced at her watch. It was 11:34 and she was already standing outside the famous pub. Excellent, now she'd have to wait alone inside for almost half an hour. She might've gone into Diagon Alley to look around for a bit, but just her luck, she'd be spotted by George from his flat or the shop. She sighed miserably. Her feelings about him were so complicated. He was both the last person she wanted to see and the person she wanted to see most. She didn't want him to think she cared too much, but she'd beaten herself up for letting him think she didn't care enough.

She pushed the door open and walked inside. It was busy today; she'd have a job finding a table for them. As she pushed her way to the other side of the room, old drunken men leered at her with crooked smiles and catcalls. Angelina tossed her hair over her shoulders and put on a spectacular show of ignoring them. It was going to be a very long twenty minutes.

"What are you doing all alone, sunshine?" called a man from the corner. "Come sit with papa."

"She's not alone," said a voice from behind her. "Bugger off, will you?"

Angelina's face brightened considerably. Whatever mixed feelings she'd had before, she was delighted to see George Weasley. He grinned sheepishly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. She looked him over. "You're early."

"So are you. I don't much fancy this crowd. Let's get out of here." He took her hand and led her out the back door, where he tapped the bricks that led to Diagon Alley with his wand.

It was a complete one-eighty from the last time Angelina had been here. Sunlight streamed across the busy streets as they stepped out of Muggle London. And somehow, with the weather change, came a new feeling of hope. She became very aware that her hand was still clasped in George's, but she didn't let herself pull away.

"Where to?" she asked, looking around. There didn't seem to be any place where they could sit down and escape the mills of people.

"Come to my place," he said, not waiting for an answer.

Angelina was not entirely sure how she felt about being alone with George in his flat, but he didn't seem to be paying her much attention. At any rate, she couldn't have offered a better suggestion. So she followed him to the place where he had lived with Fred for over a year above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Sorry, it's kind of small… and lacking a bit in the furniture department," George said apologetically. "We didn't see the need for a sofa or anything."

"But it's yours," Angelina said. "It's wonderful." She looked up at him and smiled shyly. He offered her a smile in return—small, but genuine.

"I do what I can," George said brusquely, breaking the spell. "Anything to drink?"

Angelina swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely awkward and out of place. What was she doing here? "You got any firewhiskey?" she half-joked.

"Angelina!" George gasped, his eyes wide. "I'm so… so…"

"Surprised?"

"Proud!" He grinned sideways, making his face seem even more lopsided with the absence of his ear. "I didn't know you were so… so…"

"Adventurous?"

"Wise." His smirk widened, evening out a little. "After half a decade of hell, I think we deserve a bit of… _adventure_." George waved his wand once, and a glass bottle and two cocktail glasses appeared on the little table next to him.

"When did you become so adept at nonverbal magic, Mr. Hogwarts Dropout?" asked Angelina as George poured her drink.

"Natural talent, I suppose," he said, pouring one for himself. He settled himself back in his chair and Angelina sat across from him on the unmade bed. George raised his glass. "To old friends," he said.

"To old friends," Angelina repeated, and they clinked their glasses together. George tilted his head back and drained the glass in seconds. Angelina lifted the glass to her lips and took asip—

And spat the entire mouthful all over herself, coughing uncontrollably. She set the glass down on the floor and regained her composure. Reluctantly, she looked up at George, who was nearly shaking with glee.

"You've never had firewhiskey before, have you?" he deduced, pouring himself another glass.

"Glad my idiocy has got you in such high spirits," Angelina said, rolling her eyes.

"You're not an idiot, Ange. You've never had it before. Hey, listen, I've got some butterbeer in the fridge, I think."

"No!" Angelina said vehemently, rising to her feet in her excitement. She snatched the glass up from the floor and downed the entire drink in one gulp, determinedly ignoring its fiery burn. Then she held it out to George. "More, please."

George grinned. "There's the Angelina I know and love. Never turns down a challenge." He refilled her glass. "How long until you give up?"

She slammed a newly emptied glass down on the table. "No such thing."

Three glasses later, Angelina's resolve had somewhat softened. She collapsed back down onto the bed, her fifth glass half full.

"Done?" George asked, smirking.

"Not quite," she said firmly, lying down on the bed. "I'm just… on break. Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm not done yet. You'll see."

George laughed.

"It's good to see you laughing, even if it's at my expense. It reminds me of the old days. That's the way you and Fred always used to laugh at me when I did something stupid."

"We weren't laughing at you," he insisted. "We were laughing with you. _Except_ when you woke us up at the crack of dawn for Quidditch practice. Then no one was laughing."

"Well, you didn't have long to deal with that, did you? You and Harry beat the crap out of Malfoy and lost me three of my best players. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for almost ruining my captaincy."

"Doesn't sabotaging Umbridge's regime count for anything?"

"Okay, maybe a little. But you guys left, so I'm docking a few more points. I mean, despite the legacy you guys left, it still wasn't the same as having the real Fred and George around to lighten everyone up during NEWT year, you know?"

"Well, you were always welcome to visit the shop."

"Well… I- I did."

His face dropped slightly. "Oh. Fred. Right." George took another long sip of firewhiskey to soften the blow of the tense silence that followed these words. "Hey, Ange, look… he, er... he really cared a lot about you."

More silence. "I know," said Angelina very quietly. Then, more quietly still, she said, "It must be awful for you."

George merely looked at her.

"I mean… in seventh year," she continued, prompted by his silence, "when you and Fred left, it sort of felt like… even though everyone else was still there, it was always as though something was missing. When someone would say something, I'd always imagine the sort of jokes you two would make about it in my head. Does it feel like that for you now?"

She was staring at him intently, and he stared back in wonder. No one had ever asked him so blatantly how he felt about his brother's death. In truth, he'd never imagined he'd be able to properly articulate it. He'd never had to think about it, either, because people usually tiptoed around the subject, giving him sidelong glances and asking if he was "okay." He considered what Angelina had said, and slowly, he nodded.

George waited before posing the question Angelina had been waiting for since the day she'd first seen him again. "Why didn't you come to the funeral?"

"Because… because I was a real prat. You see, I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was a bit… I felt like I was being abandoned. I didn't know what was going to happen, and it seemed like no one cared enough to check how I was doing. And I told myself that if… if he really wanted… to see me… he'd have found a way. So when he died, it sort of… hit me all at once what a complete idiot I was being. You all were out there, sacrificing everything to fight You-Know-Who, and here I was being a self-absorbed prat and blaming everyone else. I couldn't go and face that. I guess I was just afraid to face my own stupidity. And more than that… I couldn't face the fact that after being so stupid, I wouldn't ever get to see him again and make it right." She sighed. "I know I'm a complete coward. I wish I could be brave like you and Fred and all of the Weasleys."

"Don't say that, Angelina. You were there in the end, fighting with the rest of us. We needed you. We needed everyone."

"You're just saying that," she mumbled, but now she sounded distant.

"Are you okay?" George asked quickly, concerned that this heavy subject matter was bad territory. "Maybe we should change the subject."

"I'm fine. You're the only person I've ever really spoken to about Fred or the final battle or any of that stuff." She realized as she lay on the mattress, the world slowly spinning around her, that she felt… well, she felt _good_.

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Me too." He looked up when she giggled softly. "What's funny?"

"I was just thinking," she said slowly, "how funny it is that I was scared to come here in the first place, but now I feel loads better."

"You were scared to come here? Why?" George could tell she was starting to feel the effects of the firewhiskey, but the alcohol seemed to be working as well as Veritaserum.

"I thought you were going to be mad at me for not coming to see you before… or that I was going to disappoint you again. I can't be as brave as you guys. I'm not used to having to face things like this. I really… don't know… if I…" She had drifted into a doze.

George watched her for a moment in wonder. Then, he got up from his chair and nudged her gently. "I should take you home."

She looked up at him groggily and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was standing, however, she tipped back over and sagged toward the ground until George was holding almost her entire weight.

"Okay, maybe you had a few too many drinks." He stumbled backwards a bit as she fell into his arms; normally he could have carried her, but he was a bit tipsy himself. "Come on, let's get you home."

He Apparated her away to her house and rapped hard on the door. No one answered. Angelina, still being supported mostly by George, turned over her keys. He struggled quite a bit with the lock; it was quite hard to get the little key into the hole when it was swimming before his eyes. Once he'd finally gotten it open, he guided her to her room and set her down on her bed. However, they were so tangled up together that he tumbled down next to her, with one of his arms trapped beneath her.

"George," she said, grasping him more tightly than she would have done if she were sober. "Thanks for everything. It was really nice talking to you. I don't know if I've ever told you this, but you're the bravest person I know. I always thought so."

"Funny. I thought the same about you."

"Me? No." She reached up to hold his face in her hands. "George…"

He looked down at her, still feeling considerably lightheaded. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were slightly unfocused. Her body was nearly cutting off the circulation in his arm, and she smelled strongly of alcohol. George noticed none of these things. What he noticed was how incredibly inviting her lips looked as they formed around his name. He leaned forward and accepted the invitation.


	4. The Morning After

**_A/N: Yes, I'm aware this chapter is depressingly short. Bug me enough and I'll get the next one up. Read, enjoy, review._**

Disclaimer: All characters and places are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, not me.

**Chapter Four: The Morning After**

Angelina raked her fingers through her hair, her dark eyes narrowed at the miniscule black letters on the page. This was made harder by the dull, throbbing ache in her head and the queasy feeling in her stomach. _Never again_, she had groaned to herself upon waking up that morning.

But work did not wait. She'd gotten letters from the Arrows and the Catapults offering her reserve spots, and a letter from Puddlemere flat out saying their roster was full. She was being silly, she knew, but she didn't want to be a reserve—not on some washed up old team that hadn't made it to the Cup in a decade. She wanted on the team, or nothing at all. She did have to consider that if Puddlemere had offered her a reserve spot, she might have accepted. However, now it was time to weigh her other options and see what the Ministry could offer her.

Though at this point, seeing was easier said than done.

A soft knock came at her bedroom door, and Angelina gratefully welcomed the distraction. She knew her mother's soft little knock anywhere, so she didn't ask who it was. "Come in."

"Angie?" Mrs. Johnson pushed the door open. "Still working, I see."

Angelina looked up at her mother and smiled. "You know how it goes. No rest for the weary. What's up, Mum?"

"Sorry to disturb you, honey, but there's a young man at the door asking to see you." Mrs. Johnson was wearing a mysterious grin that made it clear what _she_ thought of the "young man" who had come to see her daughter.

Angelina's heart plummeted, and she directed her focus back down at the papers. "I'm not here," she said with a grimace, signing her name with a flourish at the bottom of one of the sheets.

"Oh, I couldn't, Angie. He looked like whatever he had to say was important. And he was so polite. Anyway, I already told him you were here, and that you'd be out to see him in a second." Mrs. Johnson gave her a pointed look and waved her fingers. "Come on."

Groaning with dread, Angelina swept her papers aside and trudged out to the front door. "Hi, George," she said with a sigh.

"Don't look so happy to see me," he said, no trace of the usual grin on his face. Not even its grim replacement.

"Sorry, you caught me at the end of two long hours of tedious paperwork. Fine print's doing nothing for my vision."

At that precise moment, both of them became acutely aware that she hadn't gotten dressed and looked as though she had just rolled out of bed. She was barefoot, and dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and an old T-shirt. She quickly reached up to pat down her hair, which was defiantly unraveling from its braid. Angelina was mortified. George thought she looked endearingly… Angelina.

"What's up?" she said, trying to veil her embarrassment with bravado. But she needn't have worked so hard, as George was too preoccupied with his own words to have caught on.

"Er… Listen," he began awkwardly. "I'm, er… I mean… About yesterday. I know you probably don't want to see me after… you know."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Angelina asked, looking politely puzzled. "Oh, me getting completely tanked, you mean. It was my fault. But it's fine. I've learned my lesson. I'll be more careful next time."

"Next time, eh?" The shadow of the grin was back upon his face. "Already up for a second round?" He chuckled as she punched him hard on the shoulder. "Only kidding! No need to inflict pain." The grin slowly faded. "Actually, what I meant was what happened… you know, when I… erm… we…."

"Right," Angelina said, since he seemed so unwilling to finish. "Thanks for making sure I got home okay. It was really very sweet of you."

"But… don't you—don't you remember what happened?"

"George, what are you talking about?" she asked, looking mystified. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" he said, looking equally as puzzled. There was a long moment in which they frowned at each other.

She let the silence linger before she finally said, "I'm sorry, George, but I've been working on this application for the longest, and I need to get it off my back. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah…" he said again, staring at her thoughtfully. Embarrassed, she straightened her clothes and patted her hair down again. Then his entire demeanor changed. "Sure. I'll see you later. Good luck with that application."

Angelina smiled. "Thanks! See you." She waited a few moments after he had gone before slamming the door shut and leaning against it.

When George arrived back in Diagon Alley, he was feeling positively baffled. He had woken up that morning in a cold sweat, remembering what had happened the previous day. He was feeling annoyed with himself, but more than that, he feared Angelina's reaction. Was she furious with him?

Before he knew it, he was throwing on his clothes and running out the door. He couldn't take back what had happened, but he could apologize. But to his utter surprise, she was either playing some sort of game with him or _she didn't remember what had happened_. He supposed it was possible that she'd been too drunk to remember. He only vaguely remembered it himself.

Yes, well, there was no denying that it was much easier this way. She'd only just agreed to start seeing him again, and they could really do without the memory of some stupid kiss hanging over their friendship.

He remembered in flashes the desperation and passion in the drunken kiss they'd shared the previous afternoon. The cold feel of the wall against his back, the mingled smell of firewhiskey and lavender, the vivid image of a crimson bedspread, the sweet taste of soft, passionate lips, the echoing sound of gasping breaths.

Miles away, Angelina was remembering the same thing.


	5. Angelina's New Job

_**A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers! Just to clarify, George and Angelina did not engage in any intercourse. Tee hee. Anyway, this chapter's for you!**_

Disclaimer: All characters and places are the property of one millionaire J.K. Rowling, and I am but a lowly cash-deprived college student.

**Chapter Five: Angelina's New Job**

It was Angelina's favorite day of the week: Lazy Sunday. In celebration, she was lying on the sofa with her porridge and coffee, parked in front of the television. She liked to keep up with Muggle news, since she lived in their world, after all.

A curt knock sounded on the door. She set her empty mug down on the coffee table and stood. Stretching and yawning, she made her way to the front door and looked through the peephole.

"Who's that, Angie?" asked Mrs. Johnson, who had come out of her bedroom to answer the door.

"I don't know. Looks like someone important." Angelina hesitated; she was dressed only in her pajamas and a dressing gown. Then she reached out to open the door anyway.

"Good day," said the man when she swung open the door. "I'm looking for Miss Angelina Johnson."

She looked down at the tiny wizard, reminded with a wave of nostalgia of little Professor Flitwick.

"You've found her," she said, stifling a yawn. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, ma'am." He gave a small bow of his head. "I am Bertram Aubrey, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. I was sent here with an offer from the Minister himself."

Angelina waited for him to continue, but he did not. "Oh?" she said, unable to come up with a more appropriate response.

"We received your application, but the Minister would like to offer you a position as the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports instead."

Angelina simply gaped.

"You have until New Year's Day to send your reply to the Minister by owl post," continued Aubrey. "On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, we wish you happy holidays. Have a nice day, Miss Johnson."

"You too," Angelina replied numbly, shutting the door. She was afraid to believe it. She half-wished they'd sent a letter, just so she could see it in writing. How did she know it wasn't just a practical joke?

"Who was it, Angie?" Mrs. Johnson asked, stepping back out in to the hall. She, too, was in her dressing gown, and her hair was in rollers. At least _she_ hadn't answered the door, Angelina thought, suppressing a smirk.

"Mum… who's the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic?"

Mrs. Johnson looked thrown for a moment. "I forget… they've changed the Ministry up a lot since you-know-when. Shacklebolt's Minister now, and I know that Weasley bloke is _Senior_ Undersecretary… Merlin, Ange… Isn't it that little bloke… Some odd name. B something."

"Bertram Aubrey?"

"Yes! You're right. Why do you ask?"

"Well," said Angelina, "I _think_ Aubrey just came to our house and offered me a job as Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"No he didn't," said Mrs. Johnson in a hushed voice.

"He said I have until New Year's Day to send my reply to the Minister."

Mrs. Johnson and Angelina stared at each other for a minute in awed silence. Then, they both grabbed each other and screamed.

"Angie, do you know what this means?" Mrs. Johnson shrieked.

"It's bloody amazing!" Angelina screamed back. "Bloody _brilliant_ timing!"

More squeals of glee ensued. A tall, broad-shouldered, bespectacled man appeared in the doorway, staring at his wife and daughter. "What's all the screaming for?"

"Daddy!" Angelina threw herself into her father's arms. Startled, his arms circled around his daughter and he looked questioningly at his wife.

"Your daughter just landed an amazing job at the Ministry of Magic!" Mrs. Johnson explained, beaming widely. "I'm so proud of you, Angie." She embraced her daughter as well.

"Does this mean you're like the Prime Minister of magic folk?" asked Mr. Johnson eagerly.

"Erm… not quite, Dad," said Angelina, exchanging an exasperated look with her mother, though laughing. "But the 'Prime Minister of magic folk' just offered me a position as head of a Ministry department!"

"Oh," said Mr. Johnson, looking a little put out. As a Muggle, he always felt a little resentful of the way his wife and daughter made him feel like an outsider. "Well, congratulations, Angie. Does this mean you'll be moving out soon?"

"Ready to get rid of me already?" Angelina said, grinning.

"Of course not. I'd like to keep you until you're forty. Or at least until you're married."

"Speaking of which," Mrs. Johnson interjected, "Angie, who was that young man that came to visit you yesterday? He seemed like a sweetie. Cute, too." She nudged her daughter.

"Mum, stop," Angelina said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I should go. Alicia would skin me alive if I didn't tell her the news right away. I'll be back before dinner." She kissed her parents goodbye and grabbed her coat.

She left her flat and Apparated to Alicia's house. She banged on the front door and immediately heard the dog, Cocoa, barking loudly. Alicia's older brother opened the door and greeted her.

"Hi, Angelina," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "How's it going?"

At that point, she was attacked by an excited Cocoa. The little dog leaped onto her, barking and trying to lick her face.

"Hi Cocoa," said Angelina, bending down to scratch Cocoa's ears. "What smells really good in here?" she asked as she noticed the delicious aroma that had reached her nose.

"Dunno. Mum's cooking, I think. Anyway, Alicia's upstairs in her room if you want to see her."

"Thanks!" she said. Angelina raced up the stars to Alicia's room and banged open her door. "Alicia!" she screamed from the doorway.

"Angelina! Hi!" Alicia said, looking up from the magazine she was reading. "Come in and sit down. What brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing…" Angelina said, perching next to her on the bed, a smile spread across her face.

"Stop," Alicia said, nudging her. "What happened?" Then she gave her a shrewd look. "Does it have anything to do with George Weasley?"

"George?" Angelina scoffed. "No, I haven't talked to him in forever. But guess what?" She tried hard to wipe the goofy grin off her face. It didn't work.

"You didn't get Quidditch?" Alicia gasped.

"No, not that either. But just as good." When Alicia only stared expectantly, Angelina continued. "Some bloke from the Minister's office called at my house this morning. He offered me a job as the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"No way!" Alicia exclaimed. Then she grabbed Angelina into a hug and squealed with happiness. It was like her mother all over again. "This is amazing! It's incredible! It's…" She let out a fresh scream and squeezed Angelina again. "Did you accept?"

"Not yet. I—"

"What are you doing? Send that man an owl this instant! Here." She dropped a quill, a new bottle of ink, and a roll of parchment into her friend's lap. "You can borrow my owl."

Angelina penned the letter, sealed it, and attached it to Alicia's owl. "I can't believe I'm addressing an owl to the Minister for Magic himself," she said, amazed.

She and Alicia sat for a moment after the owl was sent, absorbing the shock of it all. Then Alicia turned to Angelina, who could tell by the look on her face that she was going to say something unpleasant. The smile on her face had melted into a very stern look.

"What is it?" Angelina sighed.

"So, you haven't talked to George since you met him at Leaky?" she asked pointedly. "That was weeks ago. Are you avoiding him again?"

"No, I'm not avoiding him. I just haven't really had time to see him."

"Well you don't have a job, Ange. What have you been doing, that you're too busy? Babysitting? You're being stubborn again. Did something happen when you guys met up last time?"

A strong arm secured tightly around her, fingers tugging gently through her hair, and a warm mouth pressed insistently against hers all flitted through her mind's eye, and a wave of shame and embarrassment swept over her.

"No, nothing happened," Angelina replied.

"So then why—"

"_Okay_, Alicia. Thanks for your help. But I think I can handle the George situation myself, okay? I need to go. I told my mum I'd be home for lunch."

"Okay, okay. I'll leave you alone about George, you don't need to leave. Besides, my mum's making black forest pudding."

"I knew something smelled good in here! Well… maybe I can stay for a _bit_ longer…." She grinned at Alicia, who slapped her with a pillow.

* * *

George sighed down at his plate of food and pushed it aside. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and listened to the conversation around him. It was a bit of a full house today: Bill and Fleur, Percy, Ginny, Harry, Hermione had all dropped in for dinner, and Kingsley was due to stop by later. With all the merriment and chatter, even Mrs. Weasley was smiling as she busied herself with the pudding. But somehow, despite all the smiling faces, it still felt like someone was missing.

He'd been feeling particularly morose lately. The store wasn't enough to distract him from the persistent loneliness he felt. Even being home with his family, he felt somehow alienated. Part of it was the fact that everyone just felt so damn sorry for him. They either ladled on the pity with concerned looks and soothing words, or they avoided him altogether, not sure what to say. The other part of it was that they were right. He had a constant hollow feeling in his stomach and the persistent sensation of having been ripped in half. He had yet to find anyone with whom he could communicate across the dark void Fred's death had left.

Well, almost anyone. A smile almost reached his lips as he remembered how easily the old grin had come out when he'd been with her. It wasn't as though the void was gone, but rather, as though someone had shed some light on it. But that didn't matter. He hadn't spoken to her in almost a month. That was okay. She had her own life to attend to; she wasn't obligated to help him live his.

"George?" The voice sounded miles away. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he said quickly, giving his little sister the best smile he could manage. However, now that he'd been thinking about his day with Angelina, he became conscious of how much he had to work at it. It was strained and uncomfortable. "How's school, Gin?"

"Typical NEWT year, I suppose," she replied. "It's a bit easier having Hermione around to help… and talk to." She reached out and placed her hand on top of his, studying him carefully. "Mum said you haven't been doing very well."

"I'll be alright," he said. It was so much easier to pretend he was okay. People tended to feel relieved that he wasn't falling apart at the seams.

To George's extreme gratitude, there was a loud knock on the door. Mrs. Weasley set the pudding down on the counter and rushed to open it.

"Kingsley! Or, Minister, I should say. Come in, come in!" She stood aside so that Kingsley could sweep past her into the house.

"Now, Molly," he said, greeting her with a hug. "No need for formalities. How are you, Arthur?" He greeted Mr. Weasley and finally claimed a seat at the table, allowing Molly to put a plate of hot food in front of him. The rest of the family (including Harry and Hermione) said hello to him as well.

"How eez everything going wiz ze Ministry, Kingsley?" asked Fleur.

"It's coming along," he replied evenly, cutting into his pork chops. "We've been trying to round up the last of the dementors and get rid of them. Most of them have gone into hiding, but I daresay it will be obvious if they start breeding."

"Good on you," said Ginny. "It's about time someone got rid of them."

"Dumbledore would have appreciated it," said Harry. "He was always trying to get Fudge to remove them from Azkaban."

"What about the Death Eaters?" asked Ron.

"I'd imagine there's the same problem as last time," offered Mr. Weasley. "Got to sort out who acted of their own free will and who was put under the Imperius curse."

"We certainly don't want to go Crouch's route," added Kingsley. "Nobody's going to be sent to Azkaban unless we have proof of their involvement with the Dark side. It's not an easy task, by any means. But we're putting together a team of Interrogators for the upcoming trials, including most of the members from the Wizengamot."

"Sounds like the Ministry is in good hands," Bill said.

"Thank you, but we shouldn't get complacent. It's going to take a long time to undo the damage that's been done to the Ministry over the years. I've had to hire almost all new employees in the aftermath."

"How come?" asked Ginny. "I mean, I know you probably will for the Department of Magical Transportation and the Auror Department, since You-Know-Who had his lackeys in there. But what about the others?"

"Well, you know, some people quit because they didn't like the direction the Ministry was headed in," added Percy, who had been promoted to Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. "And the Department of Magical Games and Sports has been nearly in ruins since the unfortunate disappearance—er, _murder_ of Bertha Jorkins and the whole Ludo Bagman business. That department's been a bit neglected ever since."

George, who had only half been paying attention to the conversation (he was rarely fully invested in anything these days), felt his stomach clench at the sound of Ludo Bagman's name. It seemed like a whole other lifetime that Bagman had cheated him and Fred out of their life savings, but despite Bagman's well-deserved demise and the ever-growing success of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he couldn't help the involuntary jolt of anger at the sound of his name.

"You're right," said Mr. Weasley. "I'd forgotten."

"Well, we've gotten someone. Just heard back from her yesterday, didn't we, Minister?"

"Her?" Hermione asked. "Who is it?"

"You lot would know her," said Percy. "Graduated a couple years ago, from Gryffindor. Angelina Johnsosn?"

George spat out a mouthful of water.

"Yeah," Harry was saying. "She was on Quidditch with me and George… and Ron and Ginny later on. Brilliant!"

"What about for the Auror Department?" asked Ron. "Because someone might want to take advantage of the chaos and… and avenge You-Know-Who's death or something."

"Well that's why we have to be very specific with who we hire," Kingsley replied. "We don't want to make hasty decisions with things like this."

But George had stopped listening. He excused himself from the table and went upstairs to his and Fred's old room. It was as messy as ever, even with only one twin to destroy it. Caught in the moment, George stared at the room. He heard the sizzling of the heater, but it still felt unnaturally cold. Fred's things were still on the bed, which was still unmade. There was a hollow feeling in his stomach as he gazed at it, half expecting his brother to come bursting through the door and laugh at George's reaction.

This was why he had not been in this room since… the end. It was too heavy with memories, with Fred's presence. He had moved the boxes of merchandise from the room ages ago, knowing that returning to this room would overwhelm him as it was doing now.

George shook himself out of his stupor, remembering why he was here. Coming to himself, he walked over to the desk by the window. He swept some of the mess on the desk aside and rummaged about for a quill. When he had successfully obtained a writing utensil and a spare bit of parchment, he sat down to write.

But no matter how many times he rephrased the letter in his head, it just didn't sound right. No. George had a much better idea.


	6. Running

_**A/N:: Thanks to my reviewers, especially sassyne, who has reviewed every single chapter so far. This chapter's a trip to the Department of Backstory, but I really like it. We find out a tiny bit about why she's being such a spaz. Anyway, enjoy! And please leave lots of reviews!**_

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fictional characters and places in this story. Parts of this chapter were taken directly from the U.S. edition of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows._ Credit where credit is due, don't sue me.

**Chapter Six: Running**

Angelina's tall frame was slung over the desk chair, not quite asleep, but not quite awake, either. She blinked, bleary eyed, in a futile attempt to keep her eyes moist enough to stay open. It couldn't have been proper etiquette to fall asleep on the first day of the job, but honestly! How much longer did she have to endure this old bloke wheezing vague instructions at her? She'd never heard anything like it, save for Professor Binns, the old ghost who'd never failed to bore his History of Magic class to sleep at Hogwarts. Timothy Blenkinsop, her supervisor, had been droning on all morning, and by noon, Angelina had had enough.

Therefore, the moment Blenkinsop decided to take his lunch break was the highlight of Angelina's day. She wasn't hungry herself; despite having to recover from hours of that insufferable old man's monotonous voice, she was still feeling the jitters of her first day on the job. So instead of going upstairs to buy a sandwich from the café, she picked up the record of the previous Quidditch season and flipped through it.

However, only a page into it, Angelina felt her head spin. Who knew so much organization went into a single game of Quidditch? Was she really responsible for organizing all of the games in the British and Irish League? Her stomach knotted with guilt as she reminded herself that she had slept through her unofficial training.

"Miss Johnson?"

Angelina quickly slammed the book back down on the desk and straightened in her chair. She was half relieved and half disappointed when she caught sight of the new arrival.

"George!" she said, a bit alarmed. "What are you— What are you doing here?"

"In case you'd forgotten, I have a father and a brother who work here, and the Minister's a family friend."

"Right," Angelina said a bit sheepishly.

George pulled a chair up to her desk and took a seat. "But I came here to see you."

Angelina had recovered the record book from the desk again to avoid the intensity of George's stare. She didn't want to know why he was here, but she also didn't want to sit in that awkward silence with him staring at her like that.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked instead, her eyes still clinging desperately to the untidy scrawl in the book.

"My brother Percy," he replied evenly. "The Minister was at my parents' house for dinner a couple nights ago, discussing the newest appointments. Imagine my shock when I heard your name. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Since when is it any of your business?" she wanted to reply, but that didn't seem like a fair response. Not to mention a highly insensitive one.

"It was kind of last minute," she muttered. "I'd have told you… eventually."

"Would you?" He moved closer to her, his eyes burning a hole into the side of her face. He placed a hand on her chin, and though he didn't place any pressure on it, she was compelled to finally look him in the eyes. "What is it you're running away from, Angelina?"

She resisted a strong urge to smack him round the face. Not because she was angry with him, but because she didn't like how easily he was able to get into her head. She didn't hit him, but she jerked her face out of his grasp.

"Who said I was running away from anything?" Her voice was now a barely audible murmur, and now she was staring at the floor.

"Well… there's what happened after… the final battle."

And as their eyes met again, Angelina was transported back to that scene of horror, danger, and uncertainty. The screams of pain and terror rang fresh in her ears, and the twisted, writhing figures on the ground swam before her.

"_There's nothing you can do, Johnson."_

_Angelina yanked her arm out of his grasp. "Shove off, Montague. Go run off with the rest of your Slytherin cowards." _

_She was shaking with shock and anguish. Tears seemed frozen in her eyes as she remembered the sight of Fred's body lying lifeless on the floor of the Great Hall, surrounded by his grieving family. The last thing she needed right now was Montague coming to gloat._

"_I don't need to run, Johnson," he said, for all the world as though he didn't. "I have nothing to lose from the Dark Lord's victory. But if I were you, I would spend my efforts helping your foolish friends. They're putting up a valiant fight, but you're needed."_

"_There are Order members down there to help! If they can't win the fight, then what chance do I have?" Angelina cried desperately._

_Montague shrugged. "Stay here and cry over your ex-sweetheart while everyone else is out there fighting. I should have known… you can't offer advice to a self-righteous Gryffindor. I guess Slytherins aren't the only cowards."_

_Angelina stood frozen, torn between the cries from the room ahead and Montague's words. She was already starting to walk back (Angelina Johnson was most certainly not a coward!), when she heard it:_

"_Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone…"_

"_No," Angelina whispered. For the first time since she had seen Fred's body, she was consumed by a new emotion. Cold panic overcame her as she began to jog towards the grounds._

"…_Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family…"_

_Angelina began flat out running, jumping the stairs ten at a time._

"_Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared…"_

_She was sprinting through the corridor that led to the Great Hall. Her legs were going to give out, but she pushed on._

"…_You will join me in the new world we shall build together."_

_Her lungs burning, her body shaking, she reached the door to the entrance hall just as bodies surged through it. Panic tingled in the air like electricity, though few dared speak. Then, she heard a terrible, gut-wrenching cry. She elbowed and pushed her way through the crowd, and being blessed with height, she was able to see what was at the heart of the mass of students, teachers, Order members, and Death Eaters: Harry Potter lay sprawled at Voldemort's feet._

_For the first time since the battle had begun, hot tears choked her, and she was trembling worse than ever. She heard the subsequent screams from miles away, and the scene wavered before her eyes. The only thing that remained focused and immediate was the body of the fallen hero, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Gryffindor Seeker with the dangerously short temper and the untidy hair. She felt a sudden, great rush of affection for him, and regret for the times she had been short with him. The future of the entire world was screeching to a halt, all because of this solitary broken figure._

_Angelina watched in despair as the desperate crowd yelled defiant jeers, and Harry Potter's friend Neville Longbottom sacrificed himself in the name of rebellion. But she knew it was too late. Voldemort had won, and it was just a matter of time before the entire wizarding world was bowing at his feet like he'd promised. Despite the screaming crowd around her, her lips were glued shut with a silent prayer for a miracle._

_However, a scream was ripped from her throat when Longbottom's head lit ablaze, trapped beneath the school sorting hat. Then, chaos ensued. The crowd was dispersed by the arrival of giants and centaurs. There was screaming as people ran in all directions to take cover. Spells and arrows were flying, the ground was shaking, and the castle was being blasted to pieces all around them._

_Now crying in earnest, Angelina spotted a Death Eater going after George and Lee and leapt up to aid them. She couldn't stand for any more of her friends to be killed. However, she was slammed to the ground hard by a spell from behind. She was dizzy with pain, but being a seasoned Quidditch player, she immediately rolled back onto her feet and aimed a _Stupefy _at her attacker. She missed and barely had time to dodge a Killing Curse. Her excellent reflexes were put to the test as she dueled her Death Eater opponent. At long last, her attacking spell hit home and the Death Eater toppled backwards._

_Not wasting a moment, she ran to the center of the vast hall, realizing that the room had become very still. Everyone's eyes were upon the last sets of duelers: Voldemort himself was battling two teachers and an Order member, and Mrs. Weasley was dueling one of his most infamous Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange. She could hardly stand to look._

_But then, a collective roar from the crowd and a high-pitched scream from Voldemort made her look up. Lestrange lay dead on the ground. At the same time, Voldemort's opponents were blasted backwards, and a large bubble expanded around his lone figure in the center of the crowd. Angelina bit her nails, anxiously trying to see what he was up to. Then, she received the greatest shock of her life as Harry Potter appeared out of thin air, alive as Angelina had ever seen him. Amidst the screams of shock, Angelina sobbed uncontrollably with joy and relief._

_And just as everyone had desperately hoped, he finished it. Voldemort fell in a burst of blinding light, and Harry stood in its wake, the lone victor of a long and painful war. The air was rent with screams and cheers as people finally accepted what had just happened before their very eyes._

_Exhausted with exertion, relief, and grief, she watched from the corner as the House tables were replaced and everyone celebrated. The relief that she felt was insurmountable, but now she finally had to face the awful truth. Fred was gone._

_Unable to deal with the heartache she felt, and anxious to get back to her family, Angelina stood. As she was leaving, she felt a strong compulsion to look back. And somehow, despite the massive crowd, despite the fact that they were at opposite ends of the room, and despite the fact that he was surrounded by caring people, her eyes found George's. They had a long moment in which they stared at each other's naked souls._

_And Angelina turned around and left without a single word._

"Well, yes," Angelina said quietly. "There's that."

She knew that in that moment, he had been transported back to that night with her. She knew that they were both feeling the pain of that night, cold and fresh. Angelina reached out and took his hand in hers. They sat still for a long time, taking comfort in each other's touch.

"George," Angelina said softly, still holding his gaze. "Let's get lunch."


	7. River's Return

_**A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. Reviews are the difference between me writing a new chapter (well, editing what I've already written) and me reading a new chapter… in my political science textbook.**_

Disclaimer: Sadly, George is not mine. Neither are any of the other characters or places recognizable from the Harry Potter series which, also sadly, is not mine either.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: River's Return**

When George walked into the shop the next morning, he was _tired_. He'd spent the bulk of the previous day with Ron, making improvements on the Decoy Detonators. They'd received complaints that the Detonators kept going off by accident in people's pockets, and some of them were demanding reimbursement for their ruined clothing. It was tricky work, trying to find an appropriate spell that would still allow the Detonator to explode at the right moment. He and Ron had decided that the best thing to do for now was to clear the rest of the Detonators from the shelves until they made the right adjustments. After all, they could not afford to compensate everyone who was experiencing technical difficulties—not when the rent was due next week and the supplies for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts line were eating into their funds.

Some how, though, it was a satisfying sort of tired. For once, he was not tired because he had been unable to sleep, shivering from the cold emptiness of a room that had always been filled with soft snores and the warmth of another body. He hadn't woken up sweating in the middle of the night, roused not by nightmares, but by tantalizingly sweet dreams that softened the sharp, jagged edges of reality. And best of all, he hadn't felt smothered by the rough pillows of an unrelenting, interminable grief, or isolated by a profound and unshakable loneliness. He'd slept. Not well, maybe, but he'd slept.

George concentrated his remaining efforts on clearing the shelves of the faulty Detonators. The empty boxes were spread out in front of him, and he picked one of them up. In went the first shelf of Detonators. As long as he wasn't careless, they would still be salvageable. They could make the necessary changes on the merchandise they already had, without having to throw it all out and order brand new supplies.

"Mr. Weasley?"

George dropped the entire box of Decoy Detonators he had been stowing away and cursed loudly. He had not heard any footsteps, and now he cringed as the Decoy Detonators escaped and began exploding all over the store. Sighing, he picked up the box and summoned all the ruined Detonators to put them back in. So much for recycling them. Now they would all have to be binned.

The young blonde woman who had entered knelt down to help him sort them out. "I'm sorry," she said, looking embarrassed.

"It's my fault," George said. "I wasn't paying attention."

She gave him a weak smile, seeming a little relieved that he wasn't going to scold her for her untimely entrance. "Anyway, I'll take care of this mess," she said quickly, kneeling down to help scoop the Detonators into the box. "There's someone here to see you."

George tossed the little black object he was holding into the box, shriveled and smoking. "Be right back, then." Giving her an appreciative nod, he walked out to the front of the store to see who his visitor was.

"Hi, George!" Mrs. Weasley beamed at him from the doorway.

George strode forward and hugged her. "Mum! What are you doing here?"

"Well" said Mrs. Weasley, a bit breathless, "I needed to get some shopping done, so I decided to stop by and check on you." She stepped back to survey him. "What's got you so cheerful?"

Cheerful. This was a word that was rarely used to describe him. He may have forced himself to endure the company of his family, and he may have cracked a joke now and again, but it was clear that everyone saw through this charade. They pretended for his sake that he was alright, and he pretended for their sake that he didn't know they were pretending not to know that _he_ was pretending.

George _wasn't_ feeling particular cheerful, but he knew that he must have looked much better than the funk he'd been in last time she'd seen him. Mysterious how that worked—he'd been with Angelina for the first time in almost a month and it was suddenly as though he'd had a Cheering Charm put on him.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" he said simply.

Mrs. Weasley's face lit up. She could see that he wasn't pretending. "I was just off to Madam Malkin's, and Ginny's been feeling ill, so I'm going to pick her up something from the Apothecary. I'm glad I was finally able to stop by and see you, since you absolutely refuse to send me an owl every now and then. Can you spare a moment to come with me?"

"One second." He returned to the back of the store, where Verity had finished sorting out the decoy detonators and was sealing the box of ruined merchandise. "Listen, I'm going to step out for a bit. Do you think you can manage until I get back?"

When she assured him that everything would be fine, he grabbed a jacket and met his mother outside. They walked down to the Apothecary, where Mrs. Weasley bought ingredients to make a Pepper-Up Potion to send Ginny. He stood alongside her as she finished up her shopping, holding a few of her parcels and maintaining light conversation. She remarked again on his good mood, but he was saved the necessity of answering it when he was nearly bowled over outside Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He set the parcels on the ground and sidestepped his friend. "No need to strangle me to death!" he said, though grinning widely.

Lee Jordan grinned back at him. George had not seen his old friend since Fred's funeral, and he was barely recognizable. He no longer had the long, thick dreadlocks he'd always sported. Instead, his hair was close-shaved, making him look strangely small. He had also grown out his facial hair; his jaw was lined with dark stubble and a dark mustache framed his upper lip. George raised an eyebrow at the gold stud earring that glinted in his ear. But the wide, dimpled smile was the same as he remembered, though perhaps not as carefree.

Lee seemed to realize that he'd forgotten his manners in his excitement and promptly directed his attention to the older witch. "Hi, Mrs. Weasley."

"How are you, Lee?" Mrs. Weasley returned with a kind smile.

"I'm fine," he replied, and it couldn't have seemed more true. He seemed simply beside himself with joy at seeing George again. "Didn't expect to see you here, mate!"

"Well, I do work here," George teased.

"I know, you git." Lee punched him on the shoulder. "I was going to drop by, actually, to find out what's going on with you."

"Yeah, well, you'll have to come round anyway, then. Ron's at the Ministry, so we don't have much help today."

"I'll help out, then," Lee volunteered. "I've only come to check out broom prices—I owe my cousin a Christmas present—but I can do that any time. All things considered, I do sort of own a bit of the shop. Didn't I come up with the magic solution for the Snackbox side effects?"

"Well you two go on then," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm just about done. Thanks, George, dear. You make sure you're home for dinner on Saturday. It was nice seeing you again, Lee."

George kissed his mother goodbye and he and Lee headed back for the shop, walking considerably faster than George had with his mother. However, when they arrived, the shop was swarming with customers, and Verity seemed to be struggling to keep up. George apologized and tossed Lee some magenta robes. They wasted no time in getting to work. The shop stayed very busy for a couple hours, and it turned out he didn't get a chance to talk to Lee until it had cleared out by early afternoon.

"So what are you doing these days?" George asked as he kneeled down to clean out the Pygmy Puff cage.

"I've got my own show on the WWN, doing Quidditch recaps. You haven't heard my show?" The mock indignation on his face barely obscured the tell-tale grin. George didn't need to point out that he hadn't turned on a radio since their Potterwatch days. Lee knew, and understood.

"So how come you've abandoned the dreads?" George inquired, a little hurt that he hadn't been remembering his best friend properly during their time apart. Lee had had those dreadlocks since the first day they'd met nearly ten years ago, and he couldn't help feeling a sense of loss now they were gone.

"Too much baggage," Lee said simply, and George understood that he was not just talking about his hair. Nothing more needed to be said. They went back to their separate tasks, George cleaning the cages and Lee arranging the display above him.

"So what's Ron doing at the Ministry?" Lee asked after a while.

"Talking to Harry, I suppose." George opened the bag of food he'd brought for the miniature puffskeins. "See, Harry's completing his Auror training—Kingsley's given him permission to do the accelerated track. I mean, after you've defeated the most evil wizard of all time, not much else to learn, is there? Anyway, I think Ron wants to be an Auror too, but he doesn't want to leave me and the shop. He hasn't said, of course, but I can tell. I told him that I don't mind if he wants to pursue other interests, but I think he still feels like he'd be betraying the family business."

"Maybe he thinks that a successful shop like this one is a lot for one man to handle. Considering I was your consultant for years before this thing got off the ground, maybe you could use some extra help."

"You're hired, then. You might want to give the uniform a good _Scourgify_ before you wear it again, though… it's been collecting dust and the back room for ages."

"You might have mentioned that _before_ I put the damn thing on." He shrugged himself out of the dusty robes and tossed them aside. "Have you heard from anyone else from the old gang? Last I heard, Katie was on holiday with that Italian bloke she met at the Arrows game. And I've spoken a bit to Alicia. Isn't she writing for the Prophet? But I've not heard a dicky-bird from Angelina since the war ended. I'm starting to worry."

There was a long silence, in which George contemplated whether or not he should tell Lee that he was in contact with her. He still had that strange protectiveness about their relationship, like it was a secret he wasn't ready to tell. But somehow, withholding this information didn't seem right. "Angelina's at the Ministry now," he said finally.

Lee looked up sharply from the boxes of love potions he was arranging. "Wait, you still talk to her? You never told me that. I haven't been able to get a hold of her in ages. I thought she'd gone and disappeared off the face of the earth."

"I've only seen her a couple of times," he said quickly, noting the affronted look on Lee's face.

"I thought she didn't want to see anyone," Lee muttered, still looking disgruntled. "Why hasn't she asked after me? I should go call on her," he added thoughtfully. "You could come too, you know, it'll be just like old times."

"Ah… I'll pass, thanks," George said hastily. It was _not_ like old times anymore; Angelina had been acting very strangely since she'd turned up again, and he knew from precedent that she would not take kindly to finding him on her doorstep unannounced. "But you should go and say hello."

And he did.

When Lee arrived outside Angelina's door later that afternoon, he hesitated before knocking. He didn't know what state he'd find her in, or what his reception would be like. In fact, he didn't even know if she'd be home. But slowly he raised his fist and rapped on the door.

His heart hammered as he heard voices and footsteps coming towards the door. It seemed to take forever for the door to open. He heard the squeak of someone looking through the peephole. Then, finally, the door clicked open, and there she was, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Lee!" she gasped. "You look so… so different!"

"Well hello to you too," he quipped.

_She_ didn't look different at all, he found. She was still tall and lean as ever, with warm brown eyes and glowing brown skin. The only difference was that her hair was no longer in the long braids she'd worn the last time he'd seen her, but was sleek and fell in loose waves to her shoulders. Yes, nothing had changed. Angelina was just as beautiful as ever.

Before he had time to admire the vision before him further, she had thrown her arms around him and his face was buried in her soft, sweet-smelling hair.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

"I came to make sure you were still alive! Couldn't you have sent an owl or—?" But she had already grabbed his arm and was dragging him inside. He barely had time to push the door shut behind him before she'd pulled him to her room.

"Alicia! You'll never guess who's here!"

And once again Lee was attacked by an excited ex-Gryffindor Chaser. He looked between them, frowning slightly. "So wait, you two have been meeting up here this whole time and didn't bother to invite me?"

"Oh, stop, Lee. Sit down!"

He was ushered to a chair and the girls sprung so many questions on him that he was left dizzy. He told them about his radio show and found out about Angelina's new job, at which point he berated her again for not keeping in touch.

"Don't feel too flattered," Alicia said. "She avoided George for months too, and still would be if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, well, from what I've heard, she and _George_ have been chatting it up lately," Lee grumbled. "Couldn't you have put in a word of recommendation for me?"

"_Chatting it up?_" Angelina repeated, indignant. "Where'd you hear _that_ from?"

"From George!"

"Wait, _George _told you we've been 'chatting it up'?"

Lee couldn't help stepping down from Angelina's anger; he'd forgotten how feisty she could be. "Well, no, not in so many words. But he did say that the two of you have talked a couple of times, which is more than I can say for you and me."

Angelina glared, a sudden thought occurring to her. A certain fragmented memory came swimming to the forefront of her mind. "What exactly has George been telling you?" she demanded sharply, surprising even Alicia.

"Blimey, no need to bite my head off," Lee said, holding his hands up in surrender. "He didn't really say much. In fact, he seemed keen to get off the subject. And I asked him to come with me, but he didn't seem to want to."

As the relief ebbed away (as well as that very blurry, very incriminating memory), she noticed that something else was taking its place. Something very akin to… disappointment. "He didn't want to come?" she asked, in a much smaller voice.

"I'm sure he would have liked to," Lee amended quickly. "He must've been, erm, very busy with the shop."

Angelina wasn't sure why it bothered her so much that he didn't want to come and see her. She imagined being uneasy if he'd shown up unexpected in Lee's place. But there was something she rather liked about him wanting to see her, as it had been for the most part. And she was finally starting to feel comfortable around him again. Had she done something wrong?

"Anyway," Alicia said quickly, "Tell us more about this show on the wireless, Lee."

But it was too late. Angelina's thoughts stayed on George for the better part of the evening, and as far as she was concerned, that was not okay.

* * *

**_A/N: Review! I really don't want to do my poli sci homework. :-)_**


	8. Graveyard

**Important Note:** I'm upping the rating of this fic, because I am the author, who has seen (and drafted) the future. I'll most likely change it again to M, but that depends on whether or not I can find a way around the, umm, details. Right now it's T.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Flashbacks are for the Frangie shippers and fluff-lovers, since there won't be much of that between our main characters for a while. (But there will be plenty of angst.)

**Chapter Eight: Graveyard**

"_Ah, here's my little sleepyhead."_

_Angelina scowled. Suffice it to say, she was _not _a morning person._

"_So pleasant and cheerful, isn't she, George?"_

"_Sorry if I don't take very kindly to having my _socks_ explode in my face," she snarled. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you?"_

_Fred looked scandalized. "What kind of insensitive prat would put a Sensory Explosion Charm on your socks while you were asleep?" He grinned in spite of the cold glare she had fixed him with. "Now, now Angelina… let's not make hasty accusations. After all, everyone knows gentlemen such as myself are most certainly not allowed in the girls' dormitory. And we're especially not allowed near your chest drawers, where you keep your school robes, and socks… and knickers…"_

"_You know, Weasley, I think you're _just_ the insensitive prat." She rolled her eyes. "It _was_ a rather impressive charm, though. How _did_ you get in?"_

"_Can't let you in on all my secrets, can I?" Fred grinned._

"_That's okay. I'm already in on the biggest one." When he arched an inquisitive brow, she elaborated with a smirk, "The one about how you're not the insensitive prat you pretend to be." She pulled him close and whispered teasingly into his ear, "Your secret's safe with me."_

_Fred covered her sly smirk with his lips, ignoring George's groan of protest._

"_Wait," Angelina said suddenly, peeling her lips away from his. "Did you really go through my knickers?!"_

"Where are you going, Angie?" Mr. Johnson asked, looking startled as his daughter burst from her room and slammed the door behind her.

Angelina did not look up as she strode towards the door. "Out," she said simply.

Something in her voice wasn't right. "Angie, wait…"

Mr. Johnson eyed her with concern. She looked put-together, wrapped in her long black trench coat and her hair done up in a half ponytail, like she was going somewhere important. But he noticed that she moved with a muted sadness, and when she finally looked at him, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Immediately, Mr. Johnson followed her to the door and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright? Anything you need to talk about?"

She was clearly distraught about something. But there was still the usual air of determination about her, and her lips stretched into a strained smile. "No, Dad, I'm fine. I'll be back later." She kissed him on the cheek and continued her path to the door.

"It's raining outside," her father said.

Angelina waved an umbrella at him without turning around. "I'll be back by dinner."

"_Angie?"_

_She hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She had been staring blankly into the fire for the past… she didn't know how long. And she hadn't noticed she was crying until just then. "Hey. I thought you'd gone to bed."_

_His face was more serious than she'd ever seen it. He sat down next to her, looking tense; he was sitting on the edge of his set, leaning forward with his hands clasped, the shadow of a frown on his face. "Ange, I'm really sorry."_

_Her arms and legs were crossed stiffly, and she hadn't moved an inch. The firelight flickered and danced before her, illuminating a stray tear that still sparkled on her face. She sighed. "It's not your fault."_

"_It almost was. I just… I hate it. I hate how she's allowed to destroy this place. And I can't believe Dumbledore's letting her. She's taken just about everything that made this place worth something. Eventually all that's going to be left is her, those stupid useless Defense classes, and more Ministry trolls."_

_Angelina smiled weakly. "Sounds like I'm not the only person who's unhappy."_

"'_Course not. She's turned Defense Against the Dark Arts into complete rubbish, waged war against Hogwarts' best professors, and got me, George, and Harry sacked from Quidditch. I don't think I'll ever forgive her for ruining your Captaincy… or worse, making you cry."_

_She hastily wiped her eyes again. Fred caught hold of her wrist as she brought it back down, and surprised her by pressing his lips gently against her face where the tear had been. She stared at him._

"_I know, I know," he said, grinning a little. "I'm not allowed anymore. I am, however, still allowed to care about you. And to think that you're brilliant at Quidditch and everything else. Not even Umbridge can take that away from you. I did wonder, though, when you made my little brother Keeper. But all jokes aside—I know, I know, amazing—but you're you. And you don't need me or George or Harry to show everyone how incredible you are."_

_Angelina smiled warmly. "I don't give you enough credit, Fred. You remember that too, then. Someday, you and George are going to have that joke shop you want, and it's going to be brilliant. None of this will even matter. We just have to stick it out with that old hag one more year."_

_For a moment, it seemed like he was teetering on the edge of saying something more. Then, he seemed to think better of it. "You should get some sleep, Captain," he said, ruffling her long braids._

"_That's ex-Captain to you," she said, standing up. She ruffled his hair in turn. She hesitated; then she swept aside the ginger fringe and kissed him swiftly on the forehead. "G'night."_

_His eyes followed her as she walked up the stairs to her dormitory, and he was long out of sight when she heard him say softly, "Goodnight."_

She didn't quite know why—maybe it had something to do with the fact that the first of April was less than two months away—but lately the painfully fresh memories from the Battle of Hogwarts weighed heavily on her mind. She kept seeing—_him—_lying lifeless on the great stone floor, his skin snow white beneath the dust and grime, and his wide brown eyes blanker than she had ever seen them. It wasn't him, she had told herself. It couldn't be. She had wanted to lie down beside him, scrutinize his face, count his freckles. But she couldn't, because the family of redheads surrounded him, subdued, quiet, mournful. And worst of all, at the head crouched an almost identical body, but for the rise and fall of its chest as it drew shallow breaths and the steady streams that flowed silently down its pale face. She could feel her heart breaking inside her chest as she gazed down at her former Housemates, classmates, teammates… friends. One gone forever, the other broken beyond repair.

In the safety of her sheets, she was transported to a nighttime adventure, an afternoon practice, a morning class. A playful fight, perhaps, an affectionate squeeze, an innocent kiss. A warm hand, a mischievous brown eye, that vivid ginger hair. Those ever-soft lips formed his characteristic smirk as he watched her squirm with guilt and longing. Every night, he was waiting for her in bed, where he could laugh his hearty, exhilarated laugh in her ear and tug gently at a long braid she no longer had. Couldn't he just leave? Leave, the way… the way she had left him.

She hadn't said goodbye.

It was with this regret hanging over her that she'd woken up that morning and immediately gotten dressed. Today was the day, she knew. It was just something that had to be done.

It was still cold and pouring rain when she arrived at the graveyard. She walked slowly, with dread building up inside her like acid, looking for the section where she knew she'd find his name. Generations of Weasleys had been buried here, but it didn't take her long to find him. In fact, she spotted him immediately, because he already had company.

She knew that he came here every day. Not because he had told her, and she had not known it until that moment when she saw him, soaked and white and coated with mud. But she knew it intuitively. Taking slow, deliberate steps, she made her way over to the grave.

George did not look up when she approached, and she simply stood there in silence, her eyes averted from where she knew she must look, and her hair whipping surreally around her face.

"How long have you been here?" she asked quietly, though the wind roared in her ears. She knew he had heard her.

"Couple hours," came the hoarse response.

"You'll get sick."

He was so wet and so ghostly pale, the rain washing over his pitiful form. She shivered, only partly from the cold.

"Probably."

Slowly, Angelina closed her umbrella and laid it aside. Then, never having learned a proper lady-like fear of mud, she sat down very close to him. And somehow, before she'd meant to be, she was level with it.

_Frederick Weasley,_ it read,_ 1 April 1978 – 2 May 1998._

The small letters beneath it that made up the epitaph shifted and blurred as the cold rain dripped into her eyes. In a way, she was relieved to be spared the necessity of reading those words. She knew that whatever it said could never do him justice. How could that dreary grey stone possibly convey all the spirit and joy and mischief and love that was… had been… the real life Fred Weasley? The weight of the knowledge that Fred lay buried beneath them and the sight of his name on that cold slab of stone threatened to overwhelm her, to push at her until she too was six feet under, drowning in the gritty soil, rotting like spoiled fruit. She hadn't realized she was shaking with sobs until she couldn't breathe. George, who had remained still and silent, put an arm around her and she clung to him for dear life.

The unpleasant words of reality swirled and danced and chased each other in front of their very eyes: _Cold. Dark. Rain. Hurt. Fred. Gone. Help._

Once her sobs had subsided, they sat very still, their hearts heavy with grief. Angelina was warm, though wet, as George held her, and he could feel every shaky breath she drew. Her face was pressed against his chest, and she took in the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. It was steadying, calming. It was good to have someone alive and definite to cling to. Otherwise they might have drifted away into the depth and darkness of their own despair.

"How can you stand it?" she murmured into his drenched shirt.

Again, George said nothing, but he tightened his hold on her. Finally, she looked up at him. His soaking hair, now muted from its usual fiery shade to a soft cinnamon, was plastered to his pale, wet face. Mingled tears and rain clung to his eyelashes before rolling down his face. His expression was hard and distant. His lips, she discovered, tasted like cold and rain and sorrow. The second time, they tasted like steely resolve.

She hadn't meant to kiss him. She had only looked up to see what he was thinking, what he looked like… to read in his face what he wouldn't say aloud. She had looked to see if she could find the fire buried in those bright brown eyes. Instead, they were filled with layers of pain and misery, the kind she couldn't begin to dissect. The only thought she'd had had been to end it… for both of them.

Her conscience screamed at her for doing it, but she simply rested her head back against his chest, waiting.

* * *

Angelina watched him sleep, riveted. She felt strange and dreamlike as she watched his chest rise and fall slowly, heard the breath falling in and out of him, saw the occasional twitch of an eyelid. She felt an inexplicable fascination with him. She wanted to touch him, trace a finger across the dark circles under his eyes or along the scar that marked the spot where his ear had been cursed off. For one mad second she imagined what it would be like to _be_ him, to slumber on the bed in his place, as long and stocky and freckly as he was, her face drawn tight with unknown thoughts and mysterious visions. 

As the sunlight spilled over his freckled face, his eyelids fluttered and he finally began to stir. Angelina awoke from her trance and immediately looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. His eyes flickered open and he frowned sleepily at her.

"You're still here," he mumbled. He looked slightly less than pleased about this, sending that recently familiar stab of disappointment through her. He must have seen it in her face, however, because he quickly rearranged his face into a more pleasant expression.

Angelina chose to ignore this, and instead forced a smile. "I made you breakfast."

George sat up, now fully awake. "You did? _Really?_ I should have you over more often, then." He looked around, bemused. "I don't smell anything."

Angelina's smile widened, and she deposited a bowl of dry cornflakes in his lap. "You'll have to put the milk in yourself, I'm afraid. I didn't want them to get soggy."

George uttered a soft chuckle and summoned milk from the refrigerator. "How very thoughtful of you." He poured milk over his cereal and tucked in. "Mmm," he teased. "Just like Mum used to make."

Angelina laughed out loud. "All right! And my parents said I couldn't cook. World champion cereal-pourer, yeah?"

"Truly genius." He looked up at her, his eyes questioning. "Don't you want anything for yourself?" He waved the Cornflakes box at her.

Angelina waved the box away. "I'm not really hungry. Anyway," she said, jumping to her feet, "I should probably get home. I promised my parents I'd be home about… fifteen hours ago."

"You should get home, assuming your parents haven't already gotten the whole of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after you." He winked and she returned a smile and an eye roll. His face softened, and she recognized the transition into serious mode. "Thanks for the company, Angelina," he said. "It meant a lot."

She looked back and smiled. "Same." There was a brief awkward moment where she wondered if she should apologize for kissing him. She reconsidered: he hadn't mentioned it, and it was much easier to follow his lead and let it blow over. She started forward towards the door, then stopped to look over her shoulder. "George…" she said timidly, "you're welcome to visit me any time." She hesitated again; then, "It's always nice to see you."

George looked taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Cheers. Same goes for you. Don't be a stranger."

* * *

**_A/N: Oh yeah, and um, I'm the oddball who would like to think that his name wasn't short for Frederick, but I'll probably be overruled on this one and decided to play it safe._**


	9. In the Still of the Night

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, not yours truly.

**Chapter Nine: In the Still of the Night**

It was seven o' clock.

He didn't know how three hours had passed in the span of a couple minutes. He had sat down with a cold, white sun shining in his eyes, and now the early evening stars were twinkling against a navy sky.

He had finally acquiesced to his mother's frequent insistence that he stop by and have dinner. He suspected she was simply finding a way to check up on him and make sure he was eating properly. It was easier to indulge her than to fight with her about it, and it was best to let the rest of the family see his face from time to time as well, so that they would know he was still alive and coping.

Well, perhaps _coping_ wasn't quite the word. Over the past weeks, he'd spent countless nights lying awake, wondering in his insomnia how he could possibly live the rest of his life like this. It often felt as though he were separated from the rest of the world by some sort of invisible barrier, some sort of membrane through which people could send comforting words and concerned glances, but never really touch him.

The exception was Angelina.

He was very confused where she was concerned. This was not at all how it had been in school, when they had just been mates and she'd been a straightforward, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl. Now, he felt he'd need some sort of manual before he could understand her behavior. Her words and actions were always so ambiguous, so capricious. She had come to see him at the shop after about a year of no contact, but then acted as though she didn't want to see him anymore. Then, she had surprised him with a letter, but confessed that she'd been scared to meet him. And _then_, once they were sufficiently drunk, they'd had a good snog, which apparently Angelina didn't even remember.

And even though she didn't remember what they had done, she definitely _had_ avoided him after that, as he hadn't heard from her until he'd gone to visit her at her new job. They had gotten on just fine, then, although she was still acting shady when it came to keeping contact, answering his letters with brisk notes. But then, during their little moment in the graveyard, after all her dodging and avoiding, she had kissed him. Twice. And gone back to acting as if nothing had happened. _What _on earth was she playing at?

And finally, there was that slight problem of his feelings concerning her. He was extremely uncomfortable with the way he never felt quite so miserable and alone when he heard from her. He didn't like being so emotionally dependent on her, especially when she was being so fickle. And when she had kissed him… it had felt… Well, it hadn't felt like he would have imagined it should, especially considering its very inappropriate circumstances.

It was all a mad game of cat and mouse, one that he wasn't at all sure why he was playing.

He considered the last time he'd seen her, a couple days ago. It had been late at night, and George had been lying awake in the dark for a long time, though white moonlight was streaming through his window. He lay completely still, letting the waves of his misery crash and break over him.

Then, there was a light knock on the door. It was so quiet that he wasn't quite sure he'd heard it. He listened carefully to the hum of silence for a moment, and then it came again. He lifted his wand from his bedside table and waved it once to unlatch the door. The door creaked slowly open and he saw her dark outline briefly as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

She took her time removing her coat and draping it over the chair before slowly approaching him. And there she stood before him, bathed in ethereal light and looking down at him inquisitively. Underneath her long coat, she had only been wearing a T-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. He met her questioning gaze again, and slowly, he nodded.

"Can I sit?" she whispered.

George moved over and turned on his side to make room for her. She sat down gently, kicking her shoes off before pulling her legs up onto the bed and staring at him thoughtfully.

"I didn't wake you?"

He shook his head. He could barely see her; her face was completely in shadow, and the most he could see of her was her long, bare legs gleaming in the moonlight. He moved backwards a bit more.

"Well?" he said at last.

"I couldn't sleep. And you said I could come over whenever." Between his new angle and the way she had tucked her hair behind her ear, he could now see a little of her facial expression. She looked anxious. "You don't mind, do you?"

George studied her appraisingly. "No," he said finally. He sat up. "Welcome to the Insomnia Club. How do you take your tea?"

They sat together on the bed, silently drinking tea in the dark. It was a nicer, more comforting silence than the one he'd experienced before her arrival. Something about having her dark shape there, however much of her he could actually see, was very calming.

Angelina set her cup down on the floor. "I thought it'd be over," she said in a tiny voice.

"Thought what would be over?" asked George as he followed suit and set his own cup down.

"You know… everything." She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, gazing absently out the window. She looked angelic and tragic with that otherworldly white light outlining her body. "I thought that I'd be happy once it was all over, you know? Relieved. But instead, I can't get rid of this awful feeling, like some sort of void that's eating me from the inside out."

"Angelina?"

A single tear glinted in the moonlight. George leaned forward and wrapped her in his arms, where she promptly melted into tears. He couldn't help feeling a bit alarmed; there had been precious few occasions on which he had seen her cry. She had cried at the graveyard, but then she'd cried silently and he'd been preoccupied and it had been raining. But now he was alone in the dark with the strongest girl he knew sobbing with desperate abandon in his arms.

He hated it. He hated the way her body trembled uncontrollably, the way her face was screwed up in pain, and worst of all, the horrible, gut-wrenching cries that tore jaggedly from her throat. He rubbed her back soothingly and ran his fingers through her hair, still holding her tightly.

When her sobs had quieted to the occasional sniffle, she looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "I've never done that before." She ran a hand hastily across her eyes. "Feels kinda nice."

Though George quite disagreed, he smiled warmly at her. "All done?"

She nodded. "I think so."

George waited for her to say she had to leave and get up to retrieve her coat. She didn't. After a while, she said instead, "Can I stay?"

It was the last thing he'd expected her to say. But then he thought of her lying awake in her bed as he had, crying the way she just had done, all alone, and the answer slipped out of his mouth immediately. "For as long as you like."

He remembered lying next to her long after she'd fallen asleep in his arms, and she seemed so peaceful that he didn't have the heart to wake her. But he didn't like the way he could feel her warm breath on his neck; or how his arm was draped around her soft curves, dropping and falling slowly with her breaths; or how his face was buried in her soft hair, which was laced with the same lavender scent he'd smelled in her room. He couldn't shake the memory of their drunken exploits out of his head, and a flush crept up his face and wouldn't leave.

He'd been very relieved when he'd woken up the next morning to find she had gone. But he would discover later, well after he'd returned home from his parents' house, that it had been the first time, but certainly not the last.

* * *

"Where've you been?"

Angelina froze. She hadn't expected to be accosted as soon as she'd arrived. She grimaced. "I was at Alicia's…"

"Angie, it would be nice if you _told_ us before you went waltzing off in the middle of the night, or if you'd at least start coming home when you say you will. The disappearing act has to end. I was seriously worried!"

"I'm sorry, Mum!" Angelina said, rather startled. "I figured as long as I was home by breakfast…"

"Merlin knows what might have happened to you. You say you'll be back by dinner and I don't hear a word from you until you show up again the next _day_! _Anything_ could have happened to you!"

"I said I'm sorry!" she snapped, suddenly feeling irritated. "I'm twenty-one years old, don't shout at me like I'm a child. I don't have a curfew anymore." She took a breath. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was leaving. I'll leave you a note next time."

"Angelina… I'd feel so much better if you'd take your father's mobile next time you go. I don't like the idea of you being out there by yourself at night."

"It's _Alicia_, Mum! I'm not 'out there by myself,'" she countered.

"Well, look what happened to your friend! That Weasley boy that got killed. I worry myself sick thinking that could have been you."

Angelina was now shaking with anger. "Fred was _murdered_ trying to fight Lord Voldemort!" Her mother flinched badly. In fact, Angelina had never said his name before, but it had simply come spilling out of her mouth in her rage. "Don't talk about him like his death was some tragic accident. He died trying to make the world a safer place, and I'll be damned if I let that be in vain." She turned on her heel and stormed into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Angelina had to lie down and stew for a while, but slowly, her anger receded. She knew she shouldn't have shouted at her mother. She was only looking out for her, after all. But something about her tossing Fred's death on the table so casually had simply infuriated her, even though her mother knew nothing of her relationship with him or how he had died. She drummed her fingers against the mattress, working off whatever anger was still left.

In truth, she hadn't been at Alicia's at all. She'd been with George again. It was unprecedented; this was the first time she'd been to see him three times in one week. Each time was the same as the first: she would knock lightly on his door in the dead of night, hear the door unlatch and tiptoe inside. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they drank tea in silence, but it always ended with him holding her until she fell asleep. She'd always wake up the next morning a bit embarrassed. And then she would lie awake for a while, torn between the knowledge that she shouldn't be there and the warm feeling she got from feeling George's body molded against her. It was always the realization of the latter that made her scurry from his bed in the early morning before he woke.

Recently, she'd taken to planting a soft kiss on his warm, freckled skin before gathering her things and making an exit.

It was all very innocent, as far as she was concerned. She took secret pleasure in the way they found comfort in one another. And she was very relieved that he'd never mentioned, or worse, asked _why_ she'd kissed him. It didn't matter anymore. The most they shared in these secret late-night trysts were those deep, comforting glances. Out of nowhere, it seemed as if he understood her in a way no one else did anymore. But she never told anyone, not even Alicia, and she knew he hadn't either. This was their little secret.

She was roused from her thoughts by a sharp knock on her door. "Ange, you in there?"

"Just a second!" she yelled through the door. She opened her drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans and a cream-colored jumper to throw on over her pajamas.

Lee Jordan had taken to visiting her lately, after he'd discovered that she was perfectly willing to open her door. He was now working almost full-time at George's shop and gave her full reports on the goings-on, since they so rarely talked during their midnight rendezvous. They also chatted about Quidditch sometimes, since it pertained so well to both of their jobs.

Her parents seemed to be rather fond of Lee. He was always welcome to visit, and often invited over for dinner. Angelina had shrewd suspicions that her parents were trying to set them up, but with recent events so fresh in her mind, she had little desire to get back into the dating scene.

Throwing her hair into a ponytail with one hand, she swung open the door to greet him.

* * *

"The scent of your hair has been burned into my brain," whispered George as they lay enveloped in the darkness. For some reason, they always whispered, as if talking loudly would somehow ruin the serenity they felt. "But I'm starting to forget what your face looks like."

Angelina smiled. "We can't have that, can we? One day you'll wake up in the morning and you'll be in bed with some old hag."

George frowned. "Hang on, you're not that old hag I've been letting into my bedroom at night?"

Angelina elbowed him hard in the side. "Watch it, Weasley."

"Ouch!" George protested.

She smiled innocently and gently worked her fingers over the spot where she'd gotten him. "We should see each other in the daylight sometime," she said seriously. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Dinner at my parents', as usual. Can't blow it off, the whole family's showing up." He let these words hang in the air for a few seconds and then added quickly, "Unless you wanted to come?"

"Oh no, I couldn't." She withdrew her hand.

"Oh, come on, you've met my parents before. They'd love to have you."

"It'll just be really awkward," Angelina insisted.

"It's mostly people you know… my parents, Charlie, Percy… Ron and Harry…" He took hold of the hand she'd snatched away. "I'll be there."

Angelina hesitated.

"Come on," George wheedled.

"Alright, fine." She sighed. "But I'm only coming for an hour. And the first person to give me that stupid sideways pity glance is going to—"

"Excellent," said George. He yawned widely. "Good night."

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry this took so long. Also, I know it was a bit choppy and a little sub-par, but it was one of those things I had to just get out so I could get to the good stuff… and I didn't want to leave you all hanging. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_


	10. Dinner with the Weasleys

_**A/N: Enjoy. Review. Etcetera.**_

Disclaimer: Do not own. I receive no payment except for lovely reviews.

**Chapter Eleven: Dinner with the Weasleys**

"Come in, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, ushering her son inside and closing the door behind him. She took his coat off and put it away as though he were a guest. "I've just started dinner, but I can whip you up something quick if you're hungry now…"

"No thanks, Mum, I'm fine."

She fixed him with a stare. In his youth, he'd gotten the "Mum stare" when he and Fred had gotten caught torturing Ron or Percy, or when she'd been sent Hogwarts letters about them a few too many times. Now, it was the sort of concerned stare he received from just about everyone these days, but it didn't bother him as much when she did it. He knew that if anyone understood how he felt, it was his mother.

So he gave her a reassuring smile, wondering inwardly whether either of them would ever be okay again. "I'll be hungry by dinner," he said gently. "I promise." He started towards the sitting room, but then stopped when he remembered the thing he'd meant to mention. "By the way, I invited a friend over for dinner."

Mrs. Weasley arched an eyebrow. "A friend?" she repeated. George imagined she rather thought he didn't have many of those left after the past nine months or so. Which was somewhat true. "Lee?" she asked.

"No. Er, Angelina." When she still looked nonplussed, he elaborated. "Johnson. You've met her. Remember that girl you and Dad nearly bowled over in my second year after you realized you'd lost Ginny?"

"Ah… yes, actually. Isn't that the same girl you stayed behind with when we went to talk to Harry's relatives at the train station?"

"No, actually, that was…er…" Simultaneously, he felt a small pang of grief and a curious sensation akin to a light switching on in his head. These two feelings both triggered something similar to shame. He chose not to explain, for the sake of ease. Instead, he said, "Yes. That was her."

He did not like the look on her face one bit. "Yes, I remember," she said slowly, her face full of meaning.

"Don't look at me like that, Mum. She's a friend." _And Fred's ex-girlfriend_, he chose not to add.

"Okay, dear," said his mother fondly. "Go on and get settled."

Relieved that he'd gotten _that _over with, George went into the sitting room, where Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Ron, and Harry were already chatting. Everyone looked up when he arrived, and George was aware of that slight shrink away from him they all did unconsciously. Funny how that worked. It had been almost nine months… and still, _still_ they were afraid of him. He tried his hardest to ignore it, and settled into an armchair as though he were perfectly at ease.

"Hey George," said Bill, cheerfully enough. Everyone else muttered hellos as well.

This reception did nothing to improve his mood. There was a bit of silence, and slowly the conversation picked up again. George didn't even remember what they were talking about. Maybe Percy was divulging the inside scoop about the latest Ministry happenings in his usual (though much improved) self-important tone, or maybe Charlie was telling them all about Romania. The voices blended smoothly together and swirled around tauntingly in his head.

He knew he was being selfish. It was silly of him to be so mopey that he wasn't able to tolerate the little bit of happiness his family had left. They had all lost Fred, and Mad-Eye, and Remus and Tonks. Hell, Harry had lost more than any of them combined. But everyone else seemed to have mastered a key concept that George had failed to grasp: that life went on. There was still love and happiness to be found.

Harry had a lifetime of peace ahead of him, and he'd found happiness with Ginny. Ron had finally admitted his feelings for Hermione, and had big dreams of someday becoming an Auror. All of Percy's ambition had finally paid off and he was a high-ranking Ministry official. Charlie had his dragons. And Bill had settled down with a beautiful, loving wife and had a respectable job at Gringotts.

What did George have? Where was his happiness?

He didn't have time to wallow further, as there was a knock on the door.

"Got it," George said quickly, seizing on this prime opportunity to leave the room. He bolted gratefully out of the sitting room and into the kitchen to open the door. They had all noticed his eagerness to leave the room… but then, maybe they were as relieved as he was. The thought made him feel a bit sick. He opened the door.

"Hello!" George said, all previous thoughts forgotten.

"Hi, George," Angelina said. She tilted her head sideways, studying him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well…" George's eyes looked her over again. She was wearing a white collared shirt, buttoned low beneath a little brown cardigan, and a denim skirt. On her shoulder was a little brown leather bag, hanging from a long, beaded strap. He couldn't help feeling a bit taken aback by this uncharacteristically feminine ensemble. "…You're wearing a skirt."

She smiled a little. "Don't take the mickey, I'm making a good impression. You gonna let me in?"

George stepped aside and allowed Angelina to enter. Mrs. Weasley, who had been watching them out of the corner of her eye, looked up as Angelina entered. She set a wooden ladle down on the counter and briskly crossed the room to welcome her.

"Angelina, right?" said Mrs. Weasley pleasantly. "Nice to see you again."

Angelina smiled and gave Mrs. Weasley a polite hug. "Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for having me."

"It's no trouble at all. I'm just finishing up dinner. It'll be about another half hour, so like I was telling George, you can just relax for a while."

"I'd love to help if you'd like," Angelina offered.

George sat with them in the kitchen as they prepared the food and made small talk. It was clear that Molly Weasley approved of Angelina very much; her offer to help with dinner was all she wrote. George wondered involuntarily what she would think if she knew that Angelina had dated her late son.

"George dear," Mrs. Weasley said, motioning for him to move as Angelina began setting the table, "go and tell the others that dinner's ready."

George stood to obey, but he felt a vice-like grip on his forearm. He looked around at Angelina, whose wide eyes betrayed her nervousness. George gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. _You'll be fine_, he told her silently. She took a deep breath and nodded. Then she returned to the pile of dishes on the table before Mrs. Weasley noticed the hesitation.

The rest of the family surged into the room and headed towards the kitchen table. The remnants of their conversation died away as they spotted the strange girl setting plates and silverware before them. There was a moment of stunned silence, and Angelina smiled awkwardly.

"Angelina Johnson!" said Charlie.

"In the flesh," she said, obviously uncomfortable with all those sets of eyes focused on her. "George invited me, I hope you all don't mind."

Before she knew it, Charlie had attacked her, and she giggled as she returned his enthusiastic hug. Harry and Ron also stood to greet her; Ron gave her a knowing smile, at which she quickly looked away. Percy gave her one of his pompous handshakes—it was clear that he knew about and approved of her new job.

"You must be Bill," she said to one of the only people left in the room that she didn't know. She extended a hand. "I'm Angelina. And Fleur, isn't it? I remember you from the Triwizard Tournament."

"Eet eez a pleasure to meet you," Fleur said politely.

Angelina went to help Mrs. Weasley set the dishes on the table, and soon, the table was straining under the usual massive dishes of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. She finally took a seat as everyone began to tuck in.

In the midst of all the amicable chatter, Mr. Weasley finally returned from the Ministry to join them, looking worn and tired. He let his wife fuss over him and get his meal while he gave them a brief report of what was happening at the Ministry.

"Well… they're still trying to sort out this business with the Malfoys," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "Can't decide what to do with them."

"But I just went down there on their behalf!" Harry said incredulously. "I spoke to Kingsley himself and gave my testimony."

"I know, but Kingsley's been receiving complaints from all the people who knew of the Malfoys' involvement in the Dark Arts. Not everyone knows the details of what happened in the Forbidden Forest that night, Harry."

Angelina didn't know either, but she wasn't about to ask. Last she'd heard, the Malfoys were bad news, and she was powerfully curious to know what had happened in the Forbidden Forest to redeem them.

"Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldemort," George breathed into her ear. "She told him Harry was dead, so he didn't expect what happened in the Great Hall. Harry reckons they tried to back out of it all in the end."

"At any rate, I don't think there's reason to worry, Harry," Mr. Weasley was saying. "Kingsley believes you, and he's certainly working on clearing their name."

"Imagine," George whispered to Angelina again. "Harry actually being _worried_ about that little twit. Such a good man."

Angelina stifled a laugh.

"I don't understand why you had to be there late, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Surely the Interrogators can deal with this sort of thing."

"Well, the Obliviators needed help getting rid of the cursed Muggle objects…"

The conversation continued as they ate, and Angelina kept having to nudge George under the table for almost making her laugh at his whispered commentary. At one point, she let out a loud guffaw in the middle of Harry's account of Auror training, and everyone looked at her.

She fought against her throat as it tried to constrict with laughter, and her eyes watered from the effort. "Sorry," she whispered once she had gained composure. She felt the heat rise to her face and quickly returned to her pudding.

As soon as the conversation resumed, Angelina shoved her elbow into George's side.

"OUCH!" he yelped, and there was a loud bang as he nearly fell out of his chair. Once again, everyone stared, and upon Angelina's face was the hint of a smug smile. "Sorry," George said. "That bloody hurt!" he said in an undertone.

"Buck up, Weasley," she said, taking another bite of treacle tart.

They somehow managed to survive the rest of dinner without causing too much more of a disturbance, though a couple of times she had to hide her face in her napkin. Angelina volunteered herself and George to help with the dishes in an effort to redeem herself, meriting a dirty glare from the latter.

"Hey Angelina, are you still brilliant at Quidditch?" Charlie asked as she dried the last of the dishes and placed it in the cabinet.

She smiled at him. "Are you?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

There was a mad dash for the broom shed outside in the yard, where everyone grabbed a broom. George gave Angelina his Cleansweep, since he'd rather lost his affinity for the game. With Ron playing Keeper, it was Bill and Charlie versus Harry and Angelina. Percy had retreated to his room, no doubt to do more Ministry work, and Fleur joined George on the sidelines.

There was a lot of screaming and laughter. George was used to it. He was used to being further isolated by the screams of a merriment he feared he could never again feel. But this time… this time it was different. In the cool glow of dusk, he felt a certain peace settle over him as he watched the figures breeze past him through the air.

A fresh round of yells filled the yard and he saw Angelina and Harry slapping fives. She caught George's eye and smiled, but then she was off again as Charlie grabbed hold of the Quaffle. She _was_ still brilliant at Quidditch. The way she glided purposefully through the air, her long black waves whipping behind her, concentration and determination etched across her face….

"Angelina eez very pretty, eez she not?" Fleur said, startling George out of his reverie. He stared suspiciously at her. "Are ze two of you…?"

"No!" George said rather brusquely. What was with everyone's sudden interest in his non-existent love life? Didn't he have bigger things on his mind, what with having just buried his dead brother and all? "We're just mates," he explained, and then added a bit sulkily, "Can't a man have a girl as just a friend anymore?"

"Well, yes…" Fleur studied him carefully. "But a man does not look at a girl 'oo eez 'just a friend' ze way you are looking at Angelina."

George was thrown by this comment. He was torn between feeling affronted and curious. How exactly _had_ he been looking at her? Could Fleur even see him in the shadowy twilight? He looked at Angelina again. He hadn't even registered that he'd been looking at her. What had he been thinking about her?

Nothing, he concluded. He'd just been watching her. Maybe to see if the events of the past couple years had had any bearing on her Quidditch skills. He looked away quickly, in case Fleur caught him at it again.

After the match was over, Angelina and Charlie shook hands and returned to the house together, chatting enthusiastically. She then bid him goodnight as he departed up the stairs and turned to George, who had come inside with everyone else.

"I think I should go," she said, collecting her little brown bag. She walked with George to the door and turned to face him. "Thanks for inviting me," she said seriously. "I can hardly believe it, but I think I had a pretty good time."

"With the way you helped my mum, I think it's safe to say you're welcome back any time you like." He grinned at her. "Seriously, thanks for coming."

"I guess I'll see you later, then." She leaned in to whisper, "Keep your door unlocked." Then she placed a hand on the doorknob, but hesitated.

"Are you okay?"

She turned around again and flashed him a pretty smile. He noticed that her face was flushed with exertion and cold, and her soft, thick hair was frizzing with sweat. It amused him that she could play hard with the boys and still look so delicate.

"Thanks again," she said simply. Her hand remained on the doorknob, but her round, coffee-colored eyes remained fixated on him. Her lips parted slightly, as though she were seeing something unexpected and captivating.

He opened his mouth to ask her again if she was okay, but a large lump seemed to have formed in his throat, and he couldn't speak. His awareness sharpened abruptly. Suddenly he was aware of every breath that he drew, every pulse of his veins, every tingling nerve. He rather felt than saw Angelina's fingers leave the doorknob, as if in slow motion, and come to rest on his face. His breaths came more quickly as her thumb traced the pattern of his freckles and her soft fingers ran along his jaw line. She let her thumb brush softly against his lips before settling on his chin. With no more force than a gentle summer breeze, she guided him closer to her.

Angelina gazed into his eyes and yet again experienced the feeling of staring into his soul. They were so close. Their noses were nearly touching, and their breaths were mingling in the infinitesimal space between them. She could not—_would_ not—ask herself what she was doing. She felt his mouth trembling, knowing he felt the same overwhelming desire to close the distance. It was only a matter of seconds before she lost all semblance of control, before she succumbed to that all-consuming desire that was welling up inside her….

_CRASH_.

It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water. The loud sound had an immediate sobering effect on the two of them, and they quickly stepped away from each other, staring in shock at the source of the disruption.

"Sorry," Ron muttered. His ears had gone red. He knelt down to pick up the broken glass, but George beat him to it.

"_Evanesco!_" George said, waving his wand at the floor. The pile of wet broken glass disappeared immediately.

"Er… sorry if I – er – interrupted anything." Ron looked extremely embarrassed, but he was giving George an odd sort of stare.

If Ron looked embarrassed, it was nothing to how Angelina looked. She shot George a terrified glance. "I was, erm… I was just leaving. Good night." She yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind her.

George could have kicked himself. How could he have let himself lose control like that? He raked his fingers through his hair and collapsed into a chair.

"Erm," Ron said hesitantly, "are you okay?"

George merely shook his head. He couldn't be angry with Ron. Whatever had just happened shouldn't have happened in the first place.

"I'm really sorry about that," Ron stammered again. "I, er, didn't expect anyone to be in here and, well, it was a bit… I mean, I know it's none of my business, but, erm, wasn't she with… I mean, didn't she go out with…." His face reddened.

"You're right," George said curtly. "It is none of your business." He rose from his chair. "I'm calling it a night. Are you coming to the shop tomorrow?"

Ron nodded.

"Tell everyone I said goodbye, then."

And he was gone.


	11. As Things Collide

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the HP universe. Also the lyrics are the property of Maroon 5 and their producers and stuff. If only I were crankin' out hits like Adam and the gang.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven****: As Things Collide**

_You have this way of dipping in and out of sight as things collide  
Bridges burning softly in the night  
And you have this way of falling softly in and out of time as it goes by  
Passing silently with no goodbye…_

George looked up, startled, as his door slid open and Angelina's familiar figure stole through the dark. He'd left his door unlocked, just in case—maybe a little hopefully, but after what had happened…

"I didn't think you would come," he said.

She sat down across from him, so that she was in complete shadow. "I didn't either," she admitted. George realized that he had not heard her take her coat off as she normally did. "But I thought I should apologize."

"Apologize?" George sat up, his eyes straining in vain to make out her form in the darkness that separated them. "It wasn't your fault."

"It _is _my fault. I should have left when I started to… I don't know what got into me. George, I'm really sorry. I know I shouldn't be… I don't mean to, you know… I guess I'm just a little mixed up."

Silence.

"I've been thinking." Her voice sounded unsteady.

"About?"

"Fred."

The name sliced through him like a dagger. The time for avoiding his name was over. He'd heard it, and yes, it still hurt. But there was something about hearing Angelina say it that made his face whiten and his stomach feel queasy. He felt a strong sense of foreboding: whatever she was about to say, he was sure he wouldn't like it.

"The thing is, I thought I loved him. But the more I think about it, the more it starts to feel like our relationship was a bit of a running joke. He was always off in a corner with you, and maybe Lee, talking about whatever it was you all were talking about, and I was busy with Quidditch and NEWTs. I guess… just fancying someone isn't necessarily the basis for a relationship."

It was all he could do not to cover his ears and leave the room. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about with her.

"Alicia asked me once, if I regretted breaking things off with him. And even after everything, I'd still say no. He was a great friend, and I really miss him, but I think…." She took a shaky breath, and George thought she was probably crying, though he couldn't be sure. "Why am I telling you this? You probably don't want to hear any of this."

So she'd caught on.

"But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if… I mean, what I think I'm trying to say is, thank you."

"Pardon?"

Nothing in what she had been saying had sounded remotely like a "thank you" to George. It had sounded a lot more like a weepy reminiscence about her relationship with his brother to him.

"Thank you, for being here for me," she elaborated. "It's nice to have someone to talk to. I think you and I…"

"Understand each other?" George offered.

She was quiet for a moment. "Yes," she said, but he got the impression from her tone of voice that she hadn't been about to say that. "Anyway, that's all." He heard her stand up.

"You're leaving?" he asked, startled.

She crossed the room and knelt before him. He drew in breath as he felt her soft lips on his cheek. He felt a tingle spread through him from where she kissed him. Even after her lips had left his skin, she stayed close; he could feel her warm breath on his face and neck.

_Telegram came today from a friend, saying  
Where in the hell have you been? Where are you going?  
I said, I don't know, does the loneliness show?  
And if so, does it ever end?_

"Goodbye then," he said, relieved that he sounded considerably calmer than he felt.

She gave him a brief half-smile before she left.

* * *

She was being confusing, she knew. But that was because she was beyond confused herself. She'd been seconds away from kissing George the previous day. But wasn't she still supposed to be mourning Fred? Wasn't it a bit… wrong… to move on so quickly? And of all the people, it had to be _George_. She could have had anyone, and she'd chosen Fred's _twin brother_?

Then there was that tricky circumstance itself. Maybe she was just feeling grateful to him… or even worse… maybe it was all some subconscious effort to get Fred back. Or maybe she was just used to being with Fred, and being with George just felt natural. But she wouldn't do that, would she? She wouldn't use George that way.

Maybe she was just lonely. Maybe if she just tried meeting other people…

It was official. Angelina had gotten herself into quite a mess.

"You are not okay, are you?"

Angelina jumped. She'd been so deep in her thoughts that she'd forgotten Alicia was there. She considered her answer to the question and finally settled on the truth. "No," she said.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," she said again. She couldn't let Alicia know what was going on, how sick she was for kissing George less than a year after Fred's death… and wanting to do it again.

"Okay," Alicia said, clearly disappointed by this lack of response. "Maybe it will help if you stop moping about and get your arse outside. Come on. Let's do something fun."

"Like?"

"What do you say we get all dressed up and go to dinner? Your favorite restaurant, my treat."

"Only if you're paying." She grinned.

Though she felt a little guilty for going out on a weeknight, shopping with Alicia for nice clothes to wear was a good distraction. Getting all dressed up and looking good on the outside made her feel a little less lousy on the inside. They took their purchases back to Angelina's, and they were in the midst of getting dressed when someone knocked on the door.

"Who's that?" Alicia asked, looking up from her makeup bag.

Angelina frowned, halfway through putting in earrings. "I dunno," she said. "I'll go and see."

She went out to the door, barefoot and with only one earring in. It was Lee. She felt the sweep of his eyes as he gave her the once-over, and he let out a low whistle.

"Whoa, _baby_," he said. "What's the occasion?"

Angelina laughed. "Hello, Lee. I'm fine, thanks for asking." She pulled the door open to let him walk through. "Alicia and I are going out, actually," she explained, closing the door behind him.

"Good Merlin!" he said as he entered her room. "You two are killing me here. Where exactly are you going?"

"We're going out to dinner, if you want to come," Alicia replied, rolling her eyes a little at his usual antics.

"I feel a bit underdressed," he said, looking between the two of them.

"It's not that serious, we're just having a bit of fun," said Angelina. "You're fine. Besides, could you really pass up an evening with these two lovely ladies?" She put an arm around Alicia, and the two of them gave him the cutest faces they could muster.

Lee clearly didn't have to think to hard about this one. "You're right," he said. "I'd have to be pretty thick to pass this one up. When are we leaving?"

"As soon as we're done getting dressed," Alicia replied, pulling on a pair of stockings.

"We can skip that part, you know."

Alicia threw a shoe at him. "Gee, Lee, you sure know how to charm a girl."

They finished getting dressed and headed out to a ritzy-type restaurant in central London. Angelina balked quite loudly at the prices on the menu, but Alicia shushed her, looking anxiously behind her to make sure there were no waiters in the vicinity.

"Shh! I'm paying for you, remember?"

"What about me?" Lee said grumpily, peering inside his wallet.

"This is my cheer-up present for Angelina," Alicia said. "You're on your own, mate."

However, Lee's money troubles did not prevent him from going Dutch with Alicia over a bottle of wine after dinner.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to chip in?" Angelina asked for the millionth time, prompted by the fact that the bottle cost the same as their entire meal. "Really, you'd still be fulfilling your duty as a good friend if I just give you a couple of pounds…"

"I'm not saying it again, Angelina," Alicia said, swatting her away as she shelled out her own money. "Shut it and drink."

Alicia's plan worked. By the time they left, Angelina felt considerably better. They took a walk down the streets of London, and the girls giggled at Lee, who was proving to be quite entertaining after having consumed half the bottle of wine from dinner.

"Oi!" Alicia called to him as he attempted to scale the side of an apartment building. "Come back down, Spidey. We're going back to Angelina's."

"We are?" Angelina asked. "Alicia, I have work tomorrow… I shouldn't have been doing any of this."

"Oh, don't start being a spoilsport again. Look, you're feeling better, aren't you? So just leave things be. Hate to be brutally honest, but you're not really doing much at the office these days anyway. You can call in sick."

"It's so good to always have you here to talk me out of having a conscience," Angelina grumbled. "Come on, Lee," she said, linking arms with him as he bounded over to them.

"Let's go!" he yelled loudly, causing several passersby to turn and stare.

"Tone it down, already," Alicia said, grabbing hold of his other arm. "Keep it up and we'll never take you out in public again."

"Why? Am I embarrassing you?"

"No," she replied defiantly.

"What about now?" He broke loose from them and stood beneath a streetlamp as though it were a spotlight. "HELLO _LONDON_!" he bellowed.

Alicia and Angelina exchanged horrified looks. Then, they both cracked up. Alicia ran over to the streetlamp and stood on its base.

"LEE JORDAN SMELLS LIKE DUNG!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Not wanting to be left out, Angelina edged her off the lamp and yelled, "AND HE HAS A TEDDY NAMED BUNNY!"

"Wait a minute, that's not on!" Lee protested. "DO NOT!" he assured the shocked Londoners who stood witness to the display.

"Does too!" Alicia tried to shout, but she was laughing too hard for it to be loud enough. "Run!" she yelled to Angelina as Lee started after them.

It was nearly midnight when they returned to Angelina's flat. She was inwardly thankful that her parents were gone for the week, as she didn't think any of them were going to be quiet just now.

Alicia made a dive for Angelina's bed and stretched out across it. "I think I might just crash at your place tonight," she said through a yawn. "I am so tired."

"You might want to change out of your dinner clothes first, though," Angelina suggested. "Feel free to borrow some clothes. Just don't keep them like you did those trousers I lent you… and the pair of boots… and the jumper…. On second thought…"

"Oh, don't. I'll give you your clothes back, silly."

Angelina yawned as well, though she didn't feel very tired. "Alright. You change. I'm going to see what's on the telly. Come on, Lee."

She and Lee trudged off to the living room and turned on the television. Angelina sat down on the sofa and stretched out across it.

"Take up the whole sofa, why don't you?" Lee grumbled. "Where am I supposed to sit?"

She smiled innocently at him and gestured towards the floor.

"Nuh uh," Lee said adamantly. "Up you get." He tugged her up into a sitting position and sat down on the newly available cushion. As soon as he let go, Angelina lay back down, her head resting in his lap. "Thought you said you weren't tired."

"I thought you said you weren't drunk," she murmured in reply.

"Hey! I'm not!"

"You certainly do seem to have settled down a bit. Prolly worked it all off running through all of England tonight."

She felt a certain peace finally settle over her again as she lay there with her eyes closed, the sounds from the television drifting in and out of her consciousness. After a while, she sat up and looked at Lee, frowning.

"What happened to Alicia?"

"I bet she fell asleep," said Lee.

Angelina tiptoed back to her room and peeked inside. Sure enough, Alicia was fast asleep in her bed, huddled under the blankets. She closed the door lightly and returned to the sitting room.

"Yup," she told Lee, plopping back down. "Er, not to be rude or anything, but shouldn't you be going soon?"

"Ah, you're kicking me out," he said with a rueful smile. "Alright, fine. But I meant to ask you something first."

"What's up?"

She had absolutely no time to respond. One minute she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a question that never came. The next… well, the next, she'd been kissed by Lee Jordan.

"Er…" Angelina spluttered, staring at him in shock. "That, er… that was not a question."

"Well, it can be."

Merlin, what had she possibly done to indicate that this was appropriate? He knew she didn't feel that way about him, didn't he? Besides, she was still getting over the trauma of the final battle. She didn't have the time or emotion to spare for romance.

What about George?a tiny voice in her brain dared to ask.

Really, it was okay for her to kiss _George_ but not Lee? Perhaps she just _liked_ being complicated. Why couldn't she be normal? It would be so much easier if she'd chosen someone less complicated. Anyone else in their right mind would have gone for Lee. He was clever, he was good-looking, he was funny. Her parents liked him. Why didn't she?

Then again, she'd never really given him a chance.

Maybe she could fix this. Maybe there was still a way she could avoid the catastrophe that could arise from having feelings for George.

She hesitated, a little miffed that the inner peace she'd been feeling had evaporated in a matter of seconds. Then she did it. She kissed him back.

She felt Lee's arms circle around her waist, drawing her closer as he responded with fervor.

_What the bloody hell are you doing?!_

She felt her body tense a little. She had to stop thinking. She had to just let go. It was better for everyone this way. She pressed her lips against his more insistently, gripping his shirt tightly in her hands.

Lee had to yank himself out of her grip, she'd been holding him so tightly and kissing him so intensely. "Angelina," he panted, frowning, "what's wrong?"

"What?" she breathed, leaning forward to kiss him again.

He leaned away from her again, gripping her wrists to stop her. "Angelina, you're crying. What's wrong?"

She saw his wet face and reached up to touch her own. She was indeed crying. And now, as reality came crashing down upon her, she felt beyond sick with herself.

"I am," she said distantly, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. "Lee, I'm really, really sorry."

"Talk to me," he said, trying to put an arm around her, but she pushed him away, standing up.

"It's late. You should… you should get going."

Lee looked positively mystified. "Did I do something?"

"No, no. I just… I really need to be alone right now. I'm sorry."

Still looking bewildered, Lee made his way out. "Well good night, then," he said with a frown.

"Good night," she mumbled, shutting the door.

* * *

"You did _what_?"

"I kissed him," Angelina mumbled, staring at her feet. She had decided that it was worth braving the embarrassment of confessing everything for the sake of her own mental health. So when Alicia had finally rolled out of bed the next day, Angelina had decided it was the moment of truth.

"So wait…" Alicia said, struggling to get her head around this new bit of information. "So you had your first kiss with him _next to Fred's grave?!_"

Well, it did sound bad once you said it aloud.

"You say first kiss like you expect there to be more," said Angelina crossly. "Well, actually, now that you mention it, there is more."

Alicia looked at her expectantly.

"Well, remember that time we met up at The Leaky Cauldron? Well, we went to his flat and had a little too much to drink… and we, erm… well, we snogged in my bedroom."

"You did WHAT?"

"And then he came to my house to apologize the next day, and I pretended that I didn't remember any of it."

Alicia stared at her incredulously, shaking her head slowly. "Angelina, are you having me on?"

"Well, you know I'm new to this whole 'men' thing," Angelina offered helplessly. Alicia was still shaking her head in disbelief. "And even more than that," she said defensively, annoyed by her friend's superior attitude, "I'm new to the whole 'falling in love with my dead ex-boyfriend's twin' thing!"

Silence.

"That, erm… That didn't come out right."

"Are you really in love with him?" Alicia asked in a hushed voice.

"No! Well… maybe. I don't know! This is all very strange and confusing and I don't understand anything anymore." She buried her face in her hands. "Either way, it's a bad situation. I'm not allowed to – er – have feelings for George."

"Says who? You and Fred stopped dating in seventh year, and it was a nice, mutual agreement. You're twenty-one years old. You're allowed to move on, even if the circumstances are a bit… different. What about George? How does he feel?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, you can usually tell a little bit. D'you think he, you know?"

"Maybe." Angelina bit her lip.

"You should go tell him how you feel. Maybe he's feeling the same way."

"I can't."

"Why not? Angelina, how long are you going to go on denying everything and trying to—"

"I can't because I kissed Lee."

"You did _WHAT?!_"

For a moment, Alicia appeared lost for words. Then, finally, she said, "Angelina Johnson, you've got some serious explaining to do. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out."

* * *

"I think we're done for the day," George said, tossing Ron the keys. "I feel like taking off a bit early today. Lee, you're putting that in the wrong box. Here," he said, taking the box away from him. "Let me do that. Are you okay?"

"Dead tired, mate. I had a late night last night." To prove it, Lee let out a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

"Yeah?" George asked, chortling. "What were _you_ up to?"

Lee shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I went out with Angelina and Alicia last night. Man, I don't think I'll ever understand women. You know how I've fancied Angelina forever, right?"

"There's an understatement."

"And she opens the door looking quite fit in this tiny black dress… and I'm thinking, I've got to just go for it. So after dinner, we go back to her place, and I decide to just do it. And for a moment, everything was great, and we were snogging, but then—"

_SMASH_.

George dropped the entire box of Snackboxes he'd been holding, and its contents crashed open on the floor. He ignored this. "You were _what_, sorry?"

"I know, crazy, eh?" Lee said, grinning sheepishly. "But thing is, just as we're really getting into it, she starts crying. So I ask her what's wrong and she just says 'I'm sorry' and all but tosses me out. What do you reckon that's all about?"

"I'd cry too if I were snogging every bloke in sight," Ron muttered bitterly.

George was caught somewhere between feeling deeply betrayed and the urge to clock Ron a good one.

"What are you on about?" Lee asked, scowling at Ron.

"George, weren't you—OUCH!"

The latter urge had won out: he had hurled a box of Puking Pastilles at his brother's head. "Ron, shut it," he snarled through gritted teeth.

"Weren't you what?" Lee said slowly, staring at George.

"Go on and admit it, then," Ron said, throwing the box to the floor. "You can throw what you want at me, but it's not right. What kind of girl does that, George? You don't need this. She's Fred's ex-girlfriend, for Merlin's sake! And then as soon as he's out of the picture, she's off snogging you and Lee in private?"

George had gone white with fury. He spoke very slowly, attempting to calm himself down as he made his way over to Ron. "We didn't snog," he growled.

"You were going to! I _saw_ you—"

"And I'll thank you," he said loudly, drowning him out, "to mind your own stinking business, _little bro,_ as I'll not take love advice from someone it took seven bloody years to figure out how to get his girl."

With one last contemptuous glare, George stalked out of the shop.

_You have this way of meaning everything and nothing to me at the same time  
__Returning my hellos with goodbyes. _

_**A/N: Bring on the hate mail.**_


	12. Love and War

_**A/N: hides Sorry! I know, it took forever. But thanks for all the reviews, they were much appreciated. I've been super busy, and I struggled quite a bit with this one, but I didn't want to just half-ass it. I'm still not all that pleased with it, but I didn't want to leave you all hanging. I may go back and play with it later. Till then, enjoy. And review. Feedback is helpful.**_

Disclaimer: No es el mio.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Love and War**

Angelina knew immediately that something was wrong. Alicia had consented to accompany her to have a chat with George (which she had insisted Angelina do ASAP). But when she entered the shop, her hand clasped tightly in Alicia's, she was met with icy glares from Ron and Lee. She could understand why Lee would be angry, but she and Ron had gotten on well enough. She was too stunned to speak.

Alicia, however, ignored this. "Where's George?" she demanded.

"We don't know," Ron said icily. "No one's seen him since yesterday."

"But… shouldn't he be here?" Angelina asked. Why wasn't he concerned with his brother's whereabouts? And why was he eyeing her with such open contempt? "Where could he have gone?"

"Don't act like you care now," Ron spat.

"What's going on?" she asked, perplexed. "Did I do something?"

"Did you do something?" Lee repeated, clearly in awe of her apparent ignorance. "No, you're only pulling me and George at the same time! You could have mentioned that you were snogging him in private _before_ you let me kiss you!"

Oops.

"Look, Lee, you don't understand. I never meant to hurt anyone—"

"It's a little late in the game for that one, eh?" Ron said coldly.

"Wait a minute," Alicia interjected. "You get out of it, Ron. This is none of your business."

"It's none of yours! It's my brother she's got on the go here."

"And it's my friend you're attacking. Don't talk about things you don't understand," she said, clearly peeved. "Lee, you need to listen to what she has to say."

Lee rolled his eyes, but when Alicia's fierce expression did not change, he folded his arms across his chest and glared at Angelina. "Fine. Go on, then."

Despite the growing dread inside her, she tossed her hair back proudly and marched over to him She looked him straight in the eye, and her voice was steady and purposeful. "I'm sorry" she said. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I should have been honest with you, like I always have been, and told you that you're a friend to me, and nothing more. It was selfish and wrong of me to use you that way, and I'm really sorry. Look, I really hope that you can forgive me, because as my friend, you mean a lot to me. But I understand if you, you know, if you don't."

Lee couldn't help admiring her guts in spite of himself. But before he could speak—

"What about George?" Ron interrupted.

"Well," Angelina said, slowly turning to face Ron. Though she was tall, the youngest Weasley boy was still considerably taller. However, she faced him with the air of a woman addressing a little boy. "As George isn't here, what I have to say to him is none of your concern. In fact, _nothing_ that goes on between George and me is any of your concern. Got it?"

"No," Ron said, his ears reddening. "I don't think _you_ get it, Johnson. George is my brother, and he's been through hell these last two years. The last thing he needs is… is some slut like you toying with his feelings!"

Angelina felt her hand move of its own accord; with a sickening slap, it collided with the side of Ron's face. For a split second, he was doubled over in pain, clutching his face. The next second, he was whipping out his wand.

"_Petriicus Totalus!_" cried two voices in unison.

Both Angelina and Ron felt their bodies stiffen. Lee caught Angelina before she toppled backwards, and Alicia caught Ron.

"Hmm," Alicia said thoughtfully. "I thought for a moment there I was going to hex him into next week. Glad to know my self-control is intact." She pointed her wand at the door and they heard the lock click.

"I think we just avoided the third war," Lee said. He looked considerably calmer than he had been before. "I'm not forgiving you yet, Angelina, but Ron, you're out of order."

"Are we ready to behave like mature adults now?" Alicia asked.

The pair merely looked at her, death stares frozen on their faces. She removed each of their wands from them and stuck them into her own pocket.

"Okay, we're going to let you go now. Ready, Lee?" She exchanged a glance with him, and he raised his wand. "_Finite Incantatem!_"

Angelina shook herself out of Lee's grip. Even still, her hand was tingling from the blow she'd dealt. She saw with satisfaction that the right side of Ron's face still bore a scarlet handprint. They glared at each other for a long time, as though really seeing each other for the first time.

When Angelina spoke, her voice was low and steady. "Don't think that you're the only one who cares what George is going through. That's rubbish, and you know it. I was there, alright? Maybe I wasn't there when I should have been, but I came eventually. I was there to hold him at night when he was hurting, and I was there to make him laugh during the daytime. I was the only person who was willing to be straight up with him, to talk about what happened. Maybe I made a few mistakes—"

Ron gave an audible snort, and Angelina took a step towards him. Katie and Lee raised their wands again, but she paid them no mind.

"Maybe I made a few mistakes, but at least I wasn't hiding from him, too full of pity to even treat him like a human being. Did you talk to him, Ron? Did you ask him how he felt? Did you cry with him?" She gave him the once-over, and he glared back in stony silence. "Didn't think so," she spat. "You might want to think about that before you call me out of my name again with that 'concerned brother' bullshit."

She arranged herself with dignity and turned her back on him. She motioned wordlessly to Alicia, who threw an anxious glance over her shoulder and followed her friend out the door.

* * *

George shoved his hands in his pockets as he strode down the streets of Muggle London. He didn't know where he was going, but he felt the pressing compulsion to keep walking. The skies were a misty gray, and it was starting to drizzle. But he ignored the reality that his options at this point were really quite limited.

He'd left in a whirlwind of emotions: confused, a little hurt, and a little angry. He didn't know if any of these feelings were legitimate or rational. But walking cleared his head a little, though he wasn't quite ready to start dissecting what had happened.

"George!"

He looked up at the sound of his name. A little white car pulled up alongside him, and the window rolled down. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair and large green eyes beckoned him over, grinning widely.

George went over and leaned against the window. "Celia," he said, sweeping the wet hair away from his face. "What brings you here?"

"Figured I'd come out and enjoy the lovely weather. Hop in."

He obeyed, climbing in quickly and shutting the door behind him. He could count the times he'd ridden in a car on one hand; he found it infuriatingly slow, and its lack of hidden tricks (least of all flight) made it utterly unexciting.

"On second thought," said Celia as she pulled away, "maybe I shouldn't have let you wet up my leather seats."

George didn't crack a smile. "Dunno why on earth anyone would want to travel in one of these things."

"I can't Apparate to save my life. And I think it's kind of pleasant, actually." She glanced up briefly at him. "Alright, Grumpy, what's the matter? Why were you wandering out in the rain all alone?"

George said nothing, watching the rain droplets roll down the windowpane. He could see his face reflected on the foggy glass, pale and solemn against the gloomy backdrop.

"Oh. Okay. Is it… is it… you know?" Celia looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

He couldn't think of a way to answer that, so he didn't.

"Sorry," Celia said, her face reddening slightly. "So where am I taking you?"

He shrugged.

"Well, what were you doing just now?"

"Leaving."

"Okay," Celia said patiently. "Well, I was on my way home just now. I was shopping before the rain, you see." She gestured behind her with one arm, where several parcels were stacked in the back seat. "So if you don't tell me where you're going, I'm just going to drive home."

"I wasn't going anywhere, really," he said finally. "I just felt like… escaping."

"Ah, okay. Understandable. You're free to come with me and crash at my place, if you wanted to get away for a while."

He looked up at her, his face calculating. "Thank you," he said finally.

"Hi, George."

Ah, great.

The last thing he needed was for her to be here upon his return. He was tempted to leave again, but he knew she wouldn't give up until they'd spoken. Instead, he sighed and addressed her. "How did you get in?"

"Oh, come on. D'you think I never learned anything from you and Fred?" She reached into her hair and brandished a hairpin at him.

"Could have you arrested for breaking and entering, I could," George muttered. He leaned against the door. "Why are you here to disturb my peaceful homecoming?"

"Because I owe you an apology, among other things." She paused. "Erm, it's your house, and I know you're not happy with me, but it'd be nice if you'd sit down." She touched the space next to her on the bed.

George thought for a moment. Then he sat down on the bed, though he sat as far away from her as possible. He did not look at her. "Well?"

Angelina realized she didn't know where to start. She had done so many things wrong, made everything a complicated mess. Ever since George had disappeared a week ago, she had wanted nothing more than to make things right. But now that it was the moment of truth, she was at a loss.

"I messed up," she said finally. "I kissed Lee, and that was a mistake."

"Listen, Angelina," George said. "What you do with Lee isn't any of my business. You can snog whomever you like. It's not like you and I…well… have anything."

His words and the flat tone in which he said them hit her like a slap in the face. "Don't talk like that," she said. "One stupid kiss that doesn't mean anything can't take away what we have."

"And just what is it that we have, Angelina?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But whatever it is, it's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. It makes me feel like no matter what happens, I can get through it as long as you're there to hold my hand. It makes me laugh when I feel like crying. And above anything, it makes me feel like I would get down on my knees and beg if it meant I didn't have to lose it. I don't want to lose you, George. Please."

"You know, I don't think you know what you want. You wanted to avoid me. You did that. Then you wanted get back in contact. You did that too. But next I know, you're avoiding me again. You called on me when you needed me, but did you ever think that maybe I needed you too? That maybe, while you were busy hiding from me, that I was alone, trying to find a reason to keep going?"

Angelina buried her face in her palms. "God, I'm so stupid. There's nothing I can say to excuse the things I've done. But I was just afraid." Her vision blurred, and her throat was closing up on her. She tried not to blink, but her eyes spilled over anyway. She wiped the tears roughly away with her wrist. "I've never lost anyone close to me before. It just hurt, so much, that I was scared to let anyone in. I didn't want to care about anyone else that way again. And I… I…" She looked up at him, her face a mask of tears, distress… and shame.

"George… I'm sorry," she gasped. "But I thought… I thought it would hurt too much to look at you, because you look just like him, and I… I was scared. So I hid from you, and then… then I didn't go to the funeral, and I was ashamed, and… and I thought you would hate me…" She let out a tragic sob. "George… George, I kissed you and I shouldn't have, but I wanted to again, and I thought I would hurt you, so I… I kissed Lee because I wanted things to stop being weird between us. But I ended up hurting everyone and now Ron hates me and he's probably told the rest of your family and they all hate me too…." She collapsed onto the bed, sobbing passionately into her arms.

And no matter what his feelings towards her had been lately, he still hated to see her cry. While he was away, he'd thought bitterly of how she would come crying to him with an apology, and he'd imagined, with some satisfaction, turning her away and giving her a taste of her own cruel medicine. But the coldness melted away as he watched her weep desperately onto his bed.

"Angelina…" He touched her back gently. "Angie, it's okay."

She sniffled and allowed him to scoop her into his arms. "I really am sorry," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to make such a big mess of everything."

"I know," he said, rubbing her back soothingly.

"And I'm sorry for crying when it's supposed to be your turn to be upset."

George chuckled softly. "'S all right. You'll owe me. And I'll take the mickey out of you for it later."

Angelina managed a grin and rested her head back in the crook of his neck. "Where'd you go?"

"I stayed with Celia for a few days—"

"Who's Celia?"

"Celia is this woman who used to all but live in the shop. I used to think she was pulling Fred, but he denied it. Anyway, I still talk to her from time to time, and she let me stay at her place. Didn't want to overstay my welcome, though, so I dropped by Bill and Fleur's as well. Ron told me once that they're pretty good about unexpected visitors, and their house is quite low-key."

"George… Ron hates me. And I'll bet he's gone and told the rest of your family what an insensitive slut he thinks I am."

George stared down at her, startled.

"Yeah, he said it," Angelina said tonelessly. "He called me a slut."

"He didn't!"

"He did. And honestly, I can't say I blame him. It's alright," she said, feeling George open his mouth to protest. "It didn't stop me from clocking him a good one upside the head. I'll bet the side of his face still has a great red mark on it."

"I don't doubt it. Maybe I'll even it out a bit next time I see him."

"Oh, don't. I've messed everything up enough as it is. I don't want you fighting with your brother because of me, too." Tentatively, she reached out to take his hand. "George, can we start over?"

"Erm… can we? After everything that's happened?"

Angelina grinned. "You mean me snogging Lee, us almost snogging at your house, me snogging you at the graveyard, and us getting drunk and snogging at my place?"

George stared. One look at his expression let Angelina know she'd slipped up.

"Erm…" she said. "Er, not that that ever happened…"

"Angelina! You said you didn't remember!"

"Well, no… I never actually _said_. You assumed… from the way I might have sort of implied that I didn't…." She groaned. "I'm sorry! It was just, well, it was awkward!"

George continued to stare at her in awe, and slowly, he began to laugh. Angelina grinned sheepishly, and then she laughed too. Then they were both laughing so hard they were crying and gasping for air. It seemed like they'd never stop, and it felt great. It was the first time either of them had really laughed this way in over a year.

"Angelina Johnson, you are _mental_," he gasped between guffaws.

"I know," she chortled.

Once they'd finished laughing, they both sighed at the same time, and that started them back up again. For one glorious moment, she felt like they were children again, just joking around with nothing more to worry about than what new form of torture Snape would dream up after another one of the twins' transgressions. It was just like before Hogwarts's demise in seventh year, before Voldemort's almost complete reign, and before her life had been touched by the cruelty of human mortality. Unfortunately, this, like all good things, came to an end.

"I should get going," she said in the afterglow. "I struck a deal with my parents that I'll start coming home when I say I will. Besides, Alicia's coming over for dinner." She cocked her head to the side, struck by sudden inspiration, and held her hand out. "Coming?"

"Huh?"

Angelina pulled on her long black coat and began buttoning it. "I asked if you were coming home with me to have dinner. I'm quite sure you weren't planning on cooking anything to eat tonight, were you?"

"No, but—"

"Come on, then."

"I'm not really dressed for it—"

"What you're wearing is fine. Come on, Alicia's dying to see you." She opened the closet and tossed his coat at him. Then she seized his hand, pulled him to his feet, and Disapparated.

Before he'd even registered leaving his own flat, he was being pulled into Angelina's. He had to admit that it smelled good, and a sight better than whatever he would have eaten at home. Angelina took his coat and hung it in the closet by the front door.

"Mum? Dad?" she called.

"In here," called a voice.

George followed Angelina into the kitchen, where her parents were sipping tea—her father over the muggle paper, her mother over the _Prophet_. Mrs. Johnson looked up as they entered and smiled in recognition as her eyes landed on George.

"Well, hello there," said Mrs. Johnson.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson," said George, reaching over and extending a hand to each of them in turn. "George Weasley."

"Weasley?" Mrs. Johnson said sharply, her eyes widening.

"I invited George over for dinner," Angelina interjected quickly. "You know, since Alicia's coming." She gave her mother a silent glare, imploring her to keep her mouth shut.

Mrs. Johnson merely smiled. "Nice to meet you, George. I remember you from the other time you came to see Angie. Well, George, we'll be eating soon. I was only waiting for Angie to get back and do the potatoes for me. Would you, dear?"

The doorbell rang.

"That must be Alicia," Angelina said, dumping the heavy sack of potatoes onto the table. "Get the door, why don't you, George?"

"Erm… sure." He rose from the table and went to answer the door.

Alicia stared at him in stunned silence, gaping. "G-George? What're you—? I thought you—? Wow. Okay."

"Alicia Spinnet, I can honestly say this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless." This comment earned him a swat on the shoulder, and he stood aside to let her in, grinning. "Needless to say," he said as he swung the door shut, "we've patched things up."

"Patched things up, huh?" Alicia said archly, smirking. "And did this 'patching' take place in your bedroom or hers?"

George stared at her in utter disbelief for a moment. Then he started towards her.

"Hi, Mr. Johnson!" Alicia said quickly, taking a step back. George whipped around.

"Hello, Alicia," he said. "Lovely to have you again, I'm sorry we didn't get to chat much last time I saw you. How is everything? What is it you do again?"

"I'm fine," Alicia replied, tossing her long auburn hair over her shoulder as she looked up at him. "I'm a Quidditch consultant for the _Daily Prophet_, actually."

"That's excellent! How'd you score that one?"

She shrugged modestly. "Lucky, I guess. Angelina's got an excellent job as well."

"Yes. Yes, I'm quite proud." His eyes traveled to George. "George, isn't it? What do you do?"

"I, erm," he faltered. It was hard to meet that sort of intense stare. Especially when he was certain that the answer would not be a satisfactory one. "I run a joke shop."

Despite the fact that this had long been an ambition of his and Fred's, he suddenly felt slightly ashamed that he couldn't have a better answer. He felt his ears redden.

"Oh," Mr. Johnson said.

Uncomfortable silence.

"So, er, what's for dinner?" Alicia managed.

Mr. Johnson responded with enough friendliness, but George couldn't help feeling awkward. He was grateful, therefore, when they all sat down to dinner and he could busy himself with food without having to look at the older man. The conversation went from politics to the recent weather and even to sports (including Muggle football). Angelina participated animatedly in the discussions, waving her fork about as she spoke. George didn't say much, for fear of incriminating himself. But inevitably—

"So, George," Mrs. Johnson said, clearly under the impression that he was being left out of the conversation. "Isn't your brother the one who helped defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

He was very aware of the way Angelina's eyes had fixed on him. He met her anxious gaze before responding politely, "Yes."

"Just how many brothers do you have, then? Because don't you also have a brother that works at the Ministry? And isn't there one who works in Gringotts?"

George closed his eyes, willing himself into calmness. It wasn't working. "Four," he said quietly.

Angelina's eyes widened. She searched frantically for a new topic of conversation, but nothing was occurring to her.

Just when she thought it couldn't get much worse, Mrs. Johnson said suddenly, "Oh, I'm sorry! I've only just realized about your brother. Oh dear, I'm being terribly insensitive. I'm sorry for your loss—"

"_Mother_!" Angelina nearly shouted. "Didn't you leave the pudding in the oven or something? Maybe you should go and check on it!"

"Sorry!" Mrs. Johnson said again, looking mortified. She stood up. "Erm, I'm going to, uh, yeah. Pudding." She scurried back into the kitchen.

"You know what, Dad, we'll have our pudding later," Angelina said, rising from the table as well. She indicated with her eyes that Alicia and George should follow her and retreated to her room. "God, that was a disaster," she said, closing the door behind them. "George… I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," George muttered. "It was bound to happen."

"I feel terrible. You were right, this was a bad idea." She sighed heavily. "If you wanted to leave, I'd understand."

George took hold of her wrist, which she'd been pressing to her forehead in her embarrassment, and brought it back down. "Look, it's okay. It's nothing I haven't faced before. I can handle it."

She looked at him, and despite her previous invitation for him to leave, he saw her eyes flood with relief. It was curious how he could now see these things. Before, her dark eyes had always held mystery and unreadable emotions. Now, he could sense all of her moods and read her thoughts as though her eyes were a direct connection into her mind itself. He'd never had that kind of subtlety, to pick up on people's feelings, except, of course, for...

Angelina gave him a half smile. "I feel obligated," she said, moving her eyes away from his to include Alicia, "to go and explain to my mother why we bolted. I'll be back."

As soon as she left, Alicia fixed George with an odd stare. "What was that?" she demanded.

"A catastrophe," George supplied.

"No, that's not what I meant," Alicia said. She studied him for a moment before pressing full steam ahead. "What do you think about Angelina?"

"I think that… she's a great person and a very good friend," he replied with a shrug. "Why?"

"That's not all you think."

"Isn't it?"

"At dinner… you were looking at her almost the whole time. And not just that, but the _way_ you were looking at her. I have to ask, do you fancy her?"

"What?" George said, even though he had heard her perfectly well.

"I asked you if you fancied Angelina."

"No. Of course not. She was Fred's girl, remember? Have you gotten us confused?"

"Oh, don't play that game with me. Is that the problem? You don't think it's right to date her because she had some old school fling with Fred?"

"It wasn't just some 'old school fling,' Alicia. They…" He chose to abandon this sentence, stuck between being unsure of how to articulate what he meant and not being sure that he should say it in the first place. "Look, it's not important. Angelina and I are just friends, and that's all."

"But if she and Fred hadn't dated, would you?"

"I've already answered you," George said rather curtly.

Alicia shrugged and sat down on the bed. "All right, all right. It was just a question."

"Sorry," he said just as shortly.

When Angelina returned, she was clearly thrown by the obvious tension in the room. She looked slowly from Alicia to George. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

"No," they both said.

However, the silence that ensued told her otherwise. Baffled, Angelina's eyes traveled between the two of them, taking in their expressionless faces and stiff postures. Finally, Alicia stood.

"I'm going to get going," she said.

"Well…" Angelina said, now thoroughly confused. "Goodbye then."

"Thanks for having me," Alicia said, hugging her.

She hugged George as well, but the stiff formality of it was not lost on Angelina. Then she scooped up her handbag and left.

"Well," Angelina said with a frown. "That was odd. Do you want to tell me what's going on, then?"

"It's nothing," George said dismissively.

"I'm sorry this was such a disaster," Angelina said. "Who knew so many things could go wrong in a day?" She bit her lip. "I just wanted to spend a little bit more time with you."

"It wasn't a complete disaster," he offered untruthfully.

"Of course it was." She looked at the floor. "You can go if you want, before something else horrible happens."

"Well," George said carefully, "maybe I wanted to spend a little more time with _you_."

She smiled a little, but still avoided his eyes. "It's a bit sad, really, but I couldn't sleep this entire week. I suppose I was starting to take your presence for granted."

"Underappreciated, as usual," he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't be coming up with any more brilliant ideas, but erm… do you want to stay, you know, for old times' sake?"

"As long as I don't wake up to your father in the middle of the night with a giant club or something."

She laughed. "I have a lock on my door."

* * *

This time, George was the first to wake. It was barely dawn when he woke up. He felt an inexplicable serenity as he lay there, looking out towards an indigo sky. Angelina was soft and warm in his arms, breathing deeply and slowly. She looked just as calm and peaceful as he felt, and he swept aside a couple strands of hair that had stuck to the side of her face. He couldn't really fight the steady pounding of his heart as he watched her.

So maybe he fancied her a little bit. But that didn't mean anything. Of course he would feel _something_ for the girl who kept him company most nights and seemed to be the only person who understood how he felt.

A second later, however, he felt something more. With a sleepy sigh, the sleeping girl wriggled into a new position. As she turned over, her thigh brushed across him in a very awkward place. The blanket slid off of her, exposing her long, bare legs, and her torso stretched into an arch as she lay stretched out on her back.

"Damnit," he swore as his own body responded accordingly. This could not be happening. He tried to get his arm out from beneath her without waking her.

"George," she murmured, though still asleep. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer to her again, so that his face was pretty much buried in the crook of her neck.

"Damnit, Angelina." His lips brushed the soft skin of her throat as he spoke. She was making this already awkward situation very difficult. He tried to edge his way out again. Heaven forbid she wake up.

"Where are you going?" she murmured again.

"Shh," he whispered. "I need to leave." He gripped her firmly but gently by the shoulders and disentangled himself from her at last. As George stood, she reached out and circled her arms around a pillow.

"Bye then," she said into the pillow. "Don't eat the cake, it's made of sand."

George chuckled a bit. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he was gone.


	13. Escape

_**A/N: Okay. Here's me making up for dropping the baton before. Enjoy!**_

Disclaimer: I am not, have never been, and never will be J.K. Rowling, the owner of all things Potter-related.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Escape**

Consciousness had not fully hit him before he felt an overwhelming sense of dread. As the comfort of sleep wore away, he became more aware of why his whole body was paralyzed with trepidation. As long as his eyes stayed closed, it couldn't happen. It couldn't exist. It wouldn't start. Maybe, he thought, he'd just sleep for the whole day, and then go on as if it had never existed.

But the longer he lay there, the more aware he was of the fact that the rising sun was pressing in on him, obliterating his body's desire to continue sleeping. His eyelids twitched, struggling to open as he squeezed them firmly closed. He fought against his body for several minutes before he finally yielded and his eyes sprung open.

And there it was. Deceptively warm and pleasant, and more spring-like than it had been in months. Perhaps warmer and more pleasant than it had been on any year for the past twenty-one years. Warm, pleasant, and completely Fred-free. Today marked the anniversary of the beginning of the end.

He didn't know why he felt so compelled to do it. He knew that it would hurt, knew that he would lose the game of being okay by doing it. But he couldn't _not_ look. His eyes wandered over to the empty bed across the room. He was right. Despair turned his stomach as he looked at it, alone for the first time in his life on his birthday. It wasn't _their_ birthday anymore. It was just his. And he felt profoundly alone.

He did little more than throw on a hooded sweatshirt before he left the flat. He knew that his family and maybe Lee or Angelina would come soliciting him to drag him into some sort of obligatory birthday celebration. He couldn't be bothered with a celebration, nor could he be bothered with trying to talk everyone else out of it. All he wanted for his birthday this year was to be left alone, and to be with his brother the only way he could now.

It was strange, he thought as he sat on the grassy earth that separated him from his twin, watching a breeze ruffle the newly budding tree branches. It was strange to think that right beneath him at this very spot was the very person for whom he had been yearning for just short of a year. The body that was the mirror image of his own was decaying mere meters beneath his fingertips, never again to be seen darting into a secret passageway or sprawled out on his bed at the Burrow. George remembered so clearly the last time he had seen him.

"_Okay, I'll cover the passage that leads into Honeydukes, and George, you can do the one downstairs," Fred said hurriedly. "We should probably find at least five others to help in case the Death Eaters manage to get through. That should give us enough time to hold them off and call for reinforcements."_

"_Great, I'll go round people up," George replied immediately. "I know Lee will probably want to help with that. Did you see where he got off to?"_

_Fred shrugged._

"_Well," said George, "hopefully I'll see you when this is all over. Good luck." He patted Fred on the arm and made to turn away._

_Fred suddenly seized George's arm. "George… wait. If- if, you know, something happens…"_

_They stared at each other, identical expressions of uncharacteristic solemnity on their faces. They had never discussed this possibility aloud. But it had always been a sort of unspoken awareness they had come to together, particularly after what had happened on the night they had removed Harry from Privet Drive. Death was real, and no one was invulnerable to it, not even the invincible Weasley twins. They both knew it. They just preferred not to entertain such a possibility._

_In one motion, they moved forward and embraced each other. It lasted for less than a second, but it conveyed everything that needed to be said._

_So with only curt nods to one another, in an exceedingly rare occurrence, Fred and George left in opposite directions._

The next time he'd thought of his brother hadn't been until he had just taken down two Death Eaters single-handedly—with a little help from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, of course. He'd caught sight of Percy battling a hooded figure and stepped in to help. He remembered being surprised by the amount of aggression his older brother was exhibiting. A flash of green light had taken Percy's opponent down, and George stared at him in shock.

However, staring at his older brother had given him a closer look. His grimy, battle-scared face had been streaked with tears, and his eyes swollen and bloodshot. His eyes had widened as they landed on George, and he recalled the sudden sensation of a ton of bricks being slammed into his stomach. He had realized with a painful jolt that it was Fred.

"_George—" Percy faltered._

"_Where is he?" George asked quietly._

_Percy hesitated. Then he raised a shaking arm and pointed to a corner where the lifeless victims lay sprawled and defeated on the dust- and plaster-strewn marble floor. His eyes zeroed in on the bright hair, though blackened with dirt and slime._

_Knees shaking, he made his way over to the fallen bodies. There were familiar faces among them, but the heavy feeling in his heart did not leave any sorrow to be spared. He knelt beside his brother, feeling an odd disembodiment as he reached out and touched his cold, lifeless face. His fingers traced the familiar structure, his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth… he noticed that the corners turned up very slightly, as though he were still smiling. Maybe it wasn't true. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe it was just a cruel joke that had gone too far._

"_Fred?" The name came out as a hoarse whisper. But if he were pulling some kind of horrible prank, he would answer. George wouldn't feel that overwhelming sense of loss, of certainty that a part of himself had been extinguished like a snuffed candle. And Fred's eyes, always so full of mischief and mirth, wouldn't be staring back at him, empty and transparent, reflecting only his own desolate face back up at him._

_He was gone._

_He would not be back._

_As tears spilled freely down his face, George reached out tenderly and closed his eyes one final time. He couldn't move. He didn't know if he wanted to. He leaned over his face, committing to memory the sensation of staring into an identical face. For a moment, Fred's face _was_ his, staring up into the heartbroken face of his earthbound brother. And in the next, he had shattered into a million tiny pieces. Who would be there to sweep him off the floor?_

He remembered that strange and immediate compulsion he had felt, while sharing a moment of joy and grief with his family, to look up. And somehow, around all the ginger heads, through crowds of crying, rejoicing, embracing people, his eyes had locked with hers. He received an entirely different kind of jolt from the one he had experienced earlier. This one was shockingly intimate; he experienced the simultaneous sensation of having someone delve inside him and touch something very secret and personal, and of certainty that Angelina Johnson understood. Of what, he hadn't known, but he was sure.

"George."

The low, velvety voice cut sharply across his thoughts, and he felt the color drain from his face in surprise. Not here. Not now.

"Angelina," he said, his jaw rather tense. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be here," she said, kneeling down next to him. She peered at him, gauging his response. Then she sat down altogether. "It's your birthday."

"Congratulations. You've won the big prize," he said gloomily. He was glad she had the sense not to wish him happy birthday. She always had been rather sensible about these things.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off. He didn't want a repeat of last time they had been here. He still felt angry with himself for managing to commit such a betrayal of his brother at his resting place. It was grossly indecent. And worst of all—he now had to admit it—he was felt a strange attraction to her. That was wrong in and of itself.

"George, look…" she began, clearly stung by the rejection. "I know I can't know how you're feeling…"

"You're right. You can't."

"I know." She made a second attempt, this time grasping his hand. Her hand was warm and small and soft against his. He felt the skin on his arms draw taut as little goosebumps erupted all over his skin. He didn't move away. "So tell me, then. Help me understand."

George shuddered slightly. He didn't know why; it wasn't cold.

"It's like… it's like being paralyzed. You know, one day you're whole and happy, and the next… you know you'll never be the same again." He paused. "It never occurred to me that one day he might not be here to know everything I'm thinking, or understand all our jokes, or help me test out new products for the shop. It was his idea, and now he'll never…" He stopped abruptly. The last thing he needed was to start crying in front of Angelina.

He didn't speak for a while, but she waited very patiently.

"Being a twin is just… it's like you've always got someone by your side, someone who understands you. I mean, I've never been by myself on a birthday before. I just feel quite… alone."

She threaded her free fingers through his hair and squeezed the hand she was already holding. "But you're not alone," she said. Her tender brown eyes were sparkling with emotion and meaning. "Look. I'm here. I'm real."

And as she drew his hand up to press against her chest, so he could feel her body pumping life through her beneath his fingertips, her point hit home. His throat closed up, and his vision blurred. His breaths quickened and he tried hard not to blink.

"It's okay," she murmured, using the hand at the back of his head to guide him to her shoulder. Her arms circled comfortingly around him. "I don't mind."

As he took another breath to steady himself, her familiar scent ensnared his senses. Despite her long, lean frame, she seemed soft and delicate against him. He had to stop thinking about her like this. Caught between confusion, frustration, and grief, he finally broke and collapsed into her arms.

She stroked his hair softly as he wept, serene and patient. Her neck muffled the sound of his cries and his tears soaked through the fabric of her shirt. But she sat very still, waiting. And once he'd stopped, he rested his head in the comfy spot between her neck and her shoulder and waited too, feeling her breath gently rustle his hair as she held him in a way he hadn't been held since he was small.

It was several minutes before anyone spoke. Angelina waited for him to break the silence, and at long last, he did.

"What now?" His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

"Whatever you want." Her voice was smooth and gentle. "It's your birthday."

"I want…" He paused. What did he want? Besides the two things he couldn't have, anyway. "I want to get out of here. Leave, go someplace familiar. Actually," he said as inspiration struck, "d'you want to go and see what they've done to old Hogwarts?"

Angelina stared at him. "Are you—are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Don't you just feel like… like walking through Hogsmeade again, and visiting all the old familiar places, like Zonko's and Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks? And we can see if the Shrieking Shack's still standing, and if the Forest is still forbidden, and what the new Gryffindor Quidditch team looks like."

Angelina thought it was a terrible idea. She looked at him, her eyes full of concern. "It won't be the same, George." She paused to contemplate the most tactful way to communicate her thoughts to him. "You mustn't think that going back will somehow erase everything that's happened."

"I don't," he said quickly. "But I feel like I owe it to him to go back and see… just—just remember."

She still had her reservations, but she knew that it was ultimately up to George to decide. "Okay," she said. "If that's what you really want."

He rose to his feet in reply and reached out a hand to help her up. It was clearly unnecessary, as she was already half off the ground by the time he reached her, but he suddenly craved her touch again. She didn't question it. She slid her hand into his and squeezed only slightly as she pulled herself to her feet as well.

As she stared probingly into his eyes, he became extremely self-conscious of the fact that he had just cried—not only in front of her, but _on_ her. His face grew warm as he wondered what she was really thinking behind the mask of concern and compassion that was her expression. Maybe she thought him a bit of a pansy now. He wanted to apologize, to somehow redeem himself, but he couldn't think of a good enough way to do it. So instead, he said nothing, and, still clutching Angelina's hand, he Apparated them away.

They emerged at the top of a long, winding hill, overlooking the village of Hogsmeade. In the distance, he could see the looming castle that was Hogwarts, impressive and familiar as it had ever been against a bright blue sky. He sighed in relief. This was good. This was where he wanted… needed to be.

His reflexes reacted in time to catch Angelina as she nearly fell over. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Merlin! You might want to warn me before you just Apparate off somewhere! I nearly suffocated to death."

He gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

She adjusted herself and swung her head back with dignity. "Let's go, then."

They ambled through the little village, stopping for butterbeers in The Three Broomsticks, loading up on chocolate at Honeydukes, and comparing Zonko's with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They came to the conclusion that Zonko's was a good start (after all, that had been where Fred and George had gotten their inspiration), but that WWW would most certainly surpass it because of its modern twists. They moved on and walked down to where the Shrieking Shack was.

"What's happened to it?" Angelina asked in an awed voice as they came to a stop.

"It's gone," George said, equally as awed.

So many Hogsmeade trips had been spent trying to find a way into the boarded up old house, the house that had always held infinite mysteries. They had spent long nights in the Gryffindor common room crafting elaborate schemes to get inside the house, only to have them backfire. Their interest in it had only been magnified after Ron had told Fred and George the story of what had happened inside it with Sirius Black years later, but by that point they'd had too much on their minds to focus much energy on the subject. Despite this, they'd always had to sneak a peek at it whenever they were in the little village. And now it was completely gone.

"We'll never get to go inside," Angelina mused.

"If that blasted Whomping Willow hadn't threatened us with a beating every time we got near it, we could've just done the thing. There was a secret passage, see," he elaborated as he registered Angelina's nonplussed expression. "Led straight from the Hogwarts grounds into the shack, but they planted the Willow just over the entrance, so we'd never have been able to get in."

"Secret passage?"

"You mean Fred never told you?"

"Should he?"

"Well, no, I guess not. But I always assumed he would anyway. I'm impressed actually."

"Oh, come on, George. You know you're the only person in the world Fred never kept secrets from." She rolled her eyes. "I was never really in on all of your little pranks and secret plans and what have you. I suppose that's why we ended it. I don't think we were ever quite on the same wavelength."

They had started strolling again, in the direction of the looming castle. George didn't say anything for a while, mastering the urge to ask the question he needed her to answer. It had been weighing heavily on his mind for days now, and it finally spurred him to voice his concern aloud.

"Angelina… do you ever… you know, think about him… er… when you're, erm…"

Angelina frowned. "When I'm what?"

He could feel his ears reddening and his face growing hot. But now that he had started the question, he had to press on. "What I'm trying to ask you is, er… Why did you kiss me?"

No, actually. That was absolutely _not_ what he had been trying to ask her.

Angelina halted, turning to stare at him in openmouthed surprise. She'd been under the impression that they'd had an unspoken agreement not to mention that. Why was he bringing this up now? She understood what he meant by it, but that only made her feel even more slighted.

"I- I don't know," she said, willing herself to recover from this unpleasant shock. "If what you're asking me," she said slowly, enunciating her words very carefully, "is whether I'm confusing you with Fred, then the answer is no."

The truth was, she had expected to confuse him with Fred. After all, how could she look at the face she knew so intimately and not associate it with the times she had spent with Fred? How could she be friends with him when she knew how his lips felt against hers? How could she remember not to hold the hand that had spent so long intertwined with hers?

And then she had kissed him for real. And to her utter surprise, it was not the same at all. However much alike they might look or even act, Fred and George were different people, with different mannerisms, different scents, and different demeanors. And that made all the difference. Even his body felt different when he held her.

Her relationship with George wasn't based solely on some cute little joke or a shared love for Quidditch and a good prank. There wasn't the constant battle of wills between two very stubborn, self-centered people and the silent wars for dominance. There was just a mutual understanding. An intuitive sensitivity to each other's needs. She and George _were_ on the same wavelength.

Damnit. She did fancy him.

But she was still a little sore that he had broached the subject of the kiss, and she wasn't going to let him off the hook. "Why did you _let_ me kiss you?" she challenged him.

"Look, maybe this isn't the time for this conversation." George sighed and glanced up at the large castle. "Let's just go and see what's up at the school."

"Okay," she agreed a little reluctantly, and they continued walking. But she wondered about his evasion of the question. What didn't he want to tell her?

"Erm, George?" Angelina asked as they approached the Hogwarts gate.

"Yeah?"

"How do we get in?"

"Huh," said George. He hadn't thought of that. He tugged on the gate without much enthusiasm. It didn't budge, of course. "Guess we'll have to get Professor McGonagall, then."

"How?" asked Angelina, indicating the magically sealed doors.

George closed his eyes momentarily and muttered an incantation. A shining silver squirrel burst from his wand, and he knelt down to whisper to it. Seconds later, it had shot away.

"What the—? Was that a Patronus?"

"It's an Order thing," he explained. "Back when… you know. The members of the Order of the Phoenix used them to communicate with each other without being monitored. It's a lot faster than an owl anyway."

They waited, and finally, they saw their old professor striding towards them. She tapped the chain on the gates with her wand; the chains snaked away from the wide wooden doors and they parted.

"Mr. Weasley! Miss Johnson!" She swept them into a hug as soon as they set foot on the grounds. George and Angelina discreetly exchanged an amused glance. The war must really have had an effect on her. If anyone had told George four years ago that he would be getting hugged by his Transfiguration professor, he would have laughed out loud.

"Hi, Professor," said Angelina as they were released.

"We just came to have a look around, if that's okay," explained George.

"Certainly. The—the memorial is up in the entrance hall, if you want to see it. And I have Miss Weasley and Miss Granger in my NEWT lesson after lunch, but they're both getting on well enough that I can send them your way."

Now they _knew_ it wasn't McGonagall.

"Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall beamed. "If you'll excuse me, I must be off to consult with the Headmaster. You are, of course, free to look around and welcome to stay as long as you like." She pocketed her wand and headed back towards the castle.

"Wow," George said.

"I know," Angelina agreed. "McGonagall sure seems to have softened up a bit, doesn't she?" Then she paused, giving him a sideways glance. "So… do you want to go and see the memorial, then?"

"Wouldn't hurt to have a shifty at it, I suppose." He looked at her cautiously, and saw that she looked anxious. "We don't have to, of course," he added quickly.

"No. No, we should, I guess."

So they followed McGonagall's path into the castle, and as they walked, Angelina's hand slid into his again. He gave it a reassuring squeeze as he mentally prepared himself to re-enter the room where his world had stopped turning… the room he hadn't set foot in for almost a year.

It looked exactly the same as it had before the battle. The House tables were all set up again in the Great Hall and a bright blue sky stretched across the room. It was empty now; George presumed that most people had gone to their afternoon lessons, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to see any familiar faces just now.

It looked the same, but it was all different. He knew exactly where Thicknesse had gone down, where he'd seen Remus battling Dolohov, where Fred's body had lain. It was eerie, really, to see it so perfectly put together when he knew what had happened here. He couldn't imagine students eating here, divvying up the latest gossip unfazed. His eyes wandered finally to the memorial plaque on the wall.

He hadn't ever really looked at any of the war memorials. He had always been preoccupied by the overwhelming loss of his brother, and then, if he could manage to find room in his heart to spare, mourning Remus and Tonks. But the list was longer than he'd ever imagined. He felt a twinge of regret for his selfishness and set out to read every single name, give each one the reverence it deserved. As he did so, he felt Angelina rest her head on his shoulder. Together they stood in front of the memorial, basking in the wonderfully powerful, humbling moment in which they appreciated just how much had been lost.

"George?"

Angelina let go of him, and George turned around to see his sister and Hermione coming towards them. Once she'd confirmed that it was indeed him, she jogged over to him and hugged him.

"Hi, Angelina," said Ginny a little distractedly. She was looking hard at George. "Mum sent me an owl just a few minutes ago. She was really worried because no one could find you. Why didn't you let anyone know you were coming?"

"I wasn't really up for the usual fuss," George replied. "I'm sure you understand."

They exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Angelina," Hermione said, "why don't we have a walk, and I can update you on what's been going on…"

"That would be great," Angelina agreed quickly. "We'll meet up with you guys later." And the two of them scampered.

"So… how are you doing?" Ginny asked George anxiously. She hoisted herself up onto the stone dais beneath the memorial and peered up at him from beneath her fiery fringe.

He sighed heavily. "You know," he said thoughtfully, moving to sit beside her, "I'm okay."

He could tell she believed him. "I'm glad," she said. "I've been really worried about you. Especially after Mum wrote and said that you were gone. I thought maybe…. Where were you? This morning, I mean?"

"I was at the graveyard with Angelina."

"Oh. How did you two meet up?"

"She knew where to find me." His insides sort of squirmed with pleasure at this idea. Why had they all waited so long to look for him? Surely they must have known where e's be. Maybe, he couldn't help thinking, a part of them didn't want to know… didn't know how to deal with his feelings. But Angelina had known, and she had come.

"Ah. Mum mentioned that you invited her for dinner a little while ago. How'd that end up going?"

"Well, I think. At least until… er… yes, I think she enjoyed it."

Ginny looked at him shrewdly, but left the subject alone. "And what about the shop?"

"That's going well, too. I ended up hiring Lee, so he's helping out with it as well. I haven't really come up with anything new. Haven't quite felt up to it, if you know what I mean." He leaned back on his palms, his eyes surveying the room once more, again feeling that disconnect between his memories of the place and the vision in front of him. "How do you do it?" he asked. "How do you come back here and eat, or sit your exams every day?"

"It's still very hard," she said gravely. "But I just keep thinking that each day we go on here, living and learning and loving… that's another day that we didn't let all of this"—she gestured at the plaque behind them—"be in vain. And that's what makes it all worth it."

George smiled at her. "You're wiser than I ever gave you credit for. How are your studies going?"

"Like the year of hell never even happened. I barely had time to get the ball rolling again before all the huge demands of NEWT year came settling in. And Quidditch is no joke. Speaking of which… we have practice later, if you and Angelina wanted to come and watch."

"Of course. We've got to make sure our legacy lives on." He smirked, and she swatted him playfully. "I'm proud of you, Gin," he said seriously.

She smiled. "You too. It was awfully brave of you to open the shop back up. And you're… you're holding up well, from what I can see." She studied him intently, as though she might see something to prove her wrong.

"Well, you know," he said with a sigh. "Some days are better than others."

"We all feel like that. You don't need to feel like you have to go through this alone, you know. I'm glad you came here, at least."

"I'm glad, too." He stood up and stretched his legs. "So… d'you want to show me what's new?

Ginny took him around, pointing out all the things that were different since he'd left and since they'd cleaned up after the battle. They met up with Hermione and Angelina again outside by the lake, where they were basking in the warmth of the first real day of spring. They saw Hermione nudge Angelina as they approached. Angelina looked up and beamed when she saw them, making George's insides squirm a little. She looked quite nice—he'd been too preoccupied to notice sooner.

He and Ginny settled themselves down next to them to enjoy the weather. They had a good chat about what was going on outside Hogwarts and what they hoped for the future. George was a little silent on this side of the conversation; he had enough trouble dealing with the present to try and contemplate the future. They had dinner outside as well, as George decided he'd had enough of the Great Hall for just now.

"I've got to get to Quidditch practice," Ginny said, checking her watch. "I told everyone six o' clock. Do you guys still want to come?"

They did. George teased her a bit about upholding the family honor, but in all honesty, she seemed a natural leader. The team was almost as cohesive as his old team, and they all appeared to be decent flyers. He and Angelina exchanged impressed nods.

After the practice, Ginny took them inside to show them where she slept. In the aftermath of the war, Ginny's accomplishment of making Head Girl had gone relatively uncelebrated, comparatively. So George had allowed her the moment of glory by asking to see the Head chambers. Hermione said she had work to catch up on since she had missed Transfiguration, and told them she would meet up with them later. So Angelina, Ginny, and George made their way back to Gryffindor to see where Ginny slept.

She got, as it turned out, a solitary room at the very top of the stone tower. The room was large and spacious, and ample light streamed in through the windows. It very much resembled her room at home, only less crowded, with pictures and Quidditch posters plastered to the wall and lots of bright colors. The silk curtains on her four-poster were powder blue, and there was a bright green rug on her floor. There were comfy, pastel-colored chairs in all the corners, and her wooden vanity held colorful bottles of various hair and skin products.

"Sweet deal you've got here," George said appreciatively.

Ginny grinned. "Almost makes it worth all the responsibility, this does." She sat down on her bed, drawing back the curtains. "It's nice having my own space this year, especially after what happened. I never really talked much with the girls in my year anyway, and I wouldn't want to go back to having to make small talk with them about silly things like _Witch Weekly_ and what Tracy Higgins was wearing in Charms."

"Ginny?"

They all looked up to see Hermione leaning against the doorframe, peering in at them.

"I thought you were going to work on the Transfiguration assignment," Ginny said in surprise. "Have you changed your mind?"

"Oh… no. It's just that I lent you the textbook yesterday and I need it for the essay. Would you happen to have it, by any chance?"

"Oh! Yes. Of course." Ginny snatched up her schoolbag, which had been lying beneath the bed, and rummaged through it. After a few moments of this, she began taking the books out one at a time and tossing them on the bed. "Hmm… that's funny. Doesn't seem to be in here."

Hermione came over to help her, sorting through the books she'd laid aside on the bed. "It's not here," she concluded as she stacked the books neatly on top of one another.

"It must be," Ginny insisted. "I packed it in my bag earlier because I went to finish the reading in the library after breakfast."

"Maybe you left it in the library," George suggested.

"I must have done," she said slowly. "I'll go and check, and you lot can just make yourselves comfortable in here till I get back."

"I'll come with you, actually," Hermione said. "I was planning on going to the library to get some work done."

"Alright, then," Ginny said, standing up. "I'll be right back," she told George and Angelina, and she and Hermione sprinted off.

"So what did you think about the Quidditch team?" Angelina asked once they'd gone. "Up to our standards? Do you think they'll get the Cup?"

"They've got a decent shot, yeah," George said. "Though I dunno. I didn't see Ginny yelling at anyone, and between you and Oliver Wood, I've never had a practice that quiet."

He shot Angelina a sly grin, and, sensing danger, seized her arms to prevent the impending attack. She glared at him grumpily, trapped by his stronghold. "Thanks, George. I'm glad to know practice meant that much to you."

"No, listen, I always thought it was a sign of genius!"

"Nice try. Now, seriously, let go of me, I'm not going to hit you. Unless you don't let go of me in the next five seconds." He let go. "Thank you." She lasted almost a full five seconds before she hit him.

"Argh!" came George's strangled cry. "I was waiting for it, too."

There was a brief silence in which he took instant note of the change in her expression. "So…" she said carefully. "So… how was it?"

He didn't need to ask what she meant.

He thought.

"It was okay," he said finally.

"Was it?"

"Yes." Then, "Thank you. Thanks for coming with me. That may have a bit to do with it." He offered her a small smile, and she reciprocated. "What about for you?" he asked.

Angelina was surprised that he'd asked her. After all, this was vastly different for her. She hadn't lost her twin, her brother, her partner-in-crime. She'd just lost a friend. And this wasn't the first birthday _she'd_ faced as an ex-twin, one month from the anniversary of the day that ended it all.

"I'm okay, too," she replied. "I'm always okay when you're with me."

_Really_? Had she _really_ said that out loud? She looked down at the floor, sweltering from the heat of her own mortification. She could feel him watching her, and she waited for him to tell her that she was crazy, that she shouldn't feel that way.

Instead, she felt his fingers sweep aside the locks of her hair that had been so helpful in concealing her face. Then she felt his knuckles gently brush the side of her face and she gazed up at him in spite of herself.

George's eyes were blazing in a way she hadn't seen since they were in school and he and Fred had concocted their plan to thwart Umbridge. The intensity of it burned through her, but she was transfixed. She couldn't look away.

It was George. Not the lost, unhappy man that looked a lot like Fred. Not the man who was teetering on the brink of an epic meltdown. Not the man who was downtrodden and uncertain and broken. It was the sweet, witty seventeen-year-old who still believed in dreams and having fun. Who could feel joy, and love, and hope…

Angelina unconsciously wiped her palms on her trousers, trying to shake herself back to the present. "So, erm…" It came out as a mere whisper, but she was feeling too lightheaded to speak louder. "What did you think about the—er…"

She wished he would stop looking at her like that. It was very distracting. If only his eyes would stop sending chills up her spine….

"What… er…"

Damn it. What had she been saying? And how had they gotten so close? She mustn't. She mustn't kiss him. But her lips tingled with longing…. As if he'd somehow sensed this, his eyes drifted down to settle on them.

"What?" he asked vaguely, his voice muted.

_Just ask the bloody question!_

"I was wondering what you thought about the…"

The question died on her lips and was replaced with the soft flesh of his. Her lips automatically formed around them in response. They held the kiss for a few moments and broke apart slightly. Angelina looked up at him, trying to fight the haze in her mind.

"You'll regret it later," she breathed.

"I know," he said. "But I just need…" His eyes burned into hers again. "Forget it, just kiss me."

The words that had been left unsaid dangled tantalizingly in front of them, but the time for words had passed. His mouth found hers again, and he succumbed to his body's insistent pleas that for once, he stop thinking and just feel.

* * *

"George," Angelina said with a slight frown, finally pulling out of the embrace. She sat up. "George, what happened to Ginny?"

"I dunno," he said, his mind not quite out of the moment just yet. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe she decided to stay at the library with Hermione."

Angelina stood up, still looking anxious. "George, you don't think… you don't think they saw us, do you?"

George's eyes widened a bit as he considered this prospect. "No," he said slowly. Then, more resolutely, "No, we would have heard the door open."

Angelina glanced at the door, which remained firmly shut. "Okay," she said, biting her lip. "Maybe we should go down and see if…"

George, who had gotten up as well, nodded and followed her to the vanity. He stood slightly behind her as she peered into the mirror, adjusting her hair and clothing. Then, out of a sudden impulse, he slipped his arms around her waist, swept her hair aside with his chin, and planted a soft kiss on her neck. All of a sudden, she didn't feel very steady on her feet, and she slid out of his grasp before he noticed.

"Come on," she said, beckoning him towards the door.

When they got down to the common room, both Ginny and Hermione were settled in chairs, reading near the fire.

"There you two are," said George. "We thought you'd stayed in the library."

"It's well past curfew," Hermione pointed out.

"What?"

George glanced down at his watch, and sure enough, it was half past nine. Had they really been upstairs for nearly two hours?

"Why didn't you come and get us?" he asked, though he was very glad they hadn't.

"I thought you'd rather appreciate the alone time," Ginny replied, not looking up from her textbook.

George and Angelina exchanged a discreet glance. Had she guessed what had happened? Or had she merely been suggesting something innocent, and he was being paranoid?

"Er…"

"Listen, if you're going, would you please go home and see Mum before your birthday's over? It would make her feel so much better to see you. She won't believe me if I tell her you're okay."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. He knew his mother would not be happy about him going off to do his own thing without telling her. "No, I'll stop by. So we'll call it a night then, yeah?"

"Okay. Thanks for coming," she said, standing up to hug him. "I'm glad you're okay. You too, Angelina. It was nice seeing you again."

They bid Hermione goodbye as well before they headed out. They both felt a sense of déjà vu as they stalked across the grounds towards the gate that would lead them out. Angelina felt a bit regretful at having to leave again, but soon enough, they were standing outside the doors that now sealed the castle from them once more. She looked up at George and gave him a shy smile.

"You are amazing, you know that?" he said.

"I know. But what makes you say it now?"

He tweaked her on the nose. "The fact that I'm here, and my day wasn't a complete nightmare. Thanks."

"Glad I could help," she said.

As their eyes found each other again, it became quite apparent to both of them that something in their relationship had changed forever. And even George, who was fast becoming the master of the game of make believe, couldn't continue to pretend it hadn't.


	14. After Tonight

**NOTE: As you can see, I changed the rating of this fic to M. Therefore, reader discretion is advised—especially if you are as squeamish as I am. :)**

_**A/N: What's up lovelies? Thanks for the wonderful reviews. I've had a busy week but I've been working hard on this chapter. There are only two more after this one, I think. But anyway, this one's for FlameonurassTruSC, who's been waiting for it forever. I hope you enjoy it so it was work the two weeks worth of torture I inflicted on myself trying to write this thing.**_

Disclaimer: So as not to end up like those poor Lexicon people, I fully credit J.K. Rowling for her work—I'm just expanding on it.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: After Tonight**

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins," Angelina said, slamming down her notepad a little more forcefully than she had intended. "I _know_ you've been scheduled to play Kenya since August, but you simply haven't passed the security regulations. We've made them quite clear."

"You told us we had to have a team of Ministry officials put Muggle-repelling charms on at least three points at the site, a unit of Aurors, and at least two Ministry-approved Apparition points."

"I did."

"We had all that!"

Angelina very nearly rolled her eyes. Instead, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto her face. "With all due respect, sir, my colleague visited your site one week ago and found that your security regulations were insufficient. As of last week, you hadn't requested any Aurors and one of your Apparition points was inadequately concealed."

"We sent our request to the Ministry prior to Mr. Blenkinsop's visit."

"Well, I'm pretty sure we alerted you in plenty of time about the deadline for the procedure. If you're not clear about it, I would advise you to consult the notice we sent you with your request to book a game at the pitch."

"Bollocks! If we haven't got 'sufficient security regulations' or whatever rubbish you're jabbering on about, it's the Ministry's fault! You've got no right to cancel our game."

"Alright, enough. I've discussed this matter with you at length, Mr. Jenkins, so if you still have problems with my answer, take it up with someone else. I've got more pressing matters to attend to. If you're still here when I get back, I'll have security escort you out."

Angelina stood up, swung her bag over her shoulder, and walked away from her desk, where Jenkins stood visibly fuming. The "pressing matters," of course, included a lunch date, but she'd been feeling particularly irritable lately and she was not one to be tested.

She stalked out to Ministry exit and Disapparated. After squeezing through the overbearing nothingness, she materialized with a _pop _in front of a small, brightly lit café.

"There you are."

She looked up in surprise. Katie Bell stood by the glass door, her hair now short and dark and her skin a good deal browner. It was quite obvious just from her appearance how long she'd been on holiday. She gave Angelina a crooked smile, though her eyes remained wary and calculating.

"Well, haven't you been playing with your look," Angelina said as she hugged her old friend in greeting.

"I thought my look should change with me," she said. "My boyfriend's inside, I told him to find us a table. D'you want to…" She gestured towards the door.

Angelina followed her inside and they sat down at a table by the window. She had rather thought that Katie's boyfriend had been brooding a little—he certainly had that whole "dark and mysterious" thing going for him—but he smiled politely enough when they sat down at the table and put an arm around Katie.

"Angelina, this is Tony," Katie said as she settled into her chair. "Tony, this is Angelina, my friend from school."

Angelina held out a hand to shake, but to her surprise, Tony drew her hand to his lips. Alarmed, she shot Katie a nervous glance, but her friend merely smiled.

"Katie's told me a lot about you," he said warmly. "It's nice to finally meet you."

So he wasn't quite the dark brooder she'd envisioned. She looked at Katie again through narrowed eyes. "So. This is why I haven't heard from you in about a year?"

Katie cringed. "Look, I'm really sorry about leaving, but I couldn't stay here anymore. I know it was immature, but I was scared I wouldn't know how to be a good friend to you and Lee, and especially George. I just needed to get away. I'm sorry."

Angelina sighed. "It's okay. I'm not one to be pointing fingers."

"How have you been? Are you okay?" Katie rested her hand on the table, and Tony covered it with his, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Angelina looked away, somehow embarrassed.

"I'm alright, I suppose." She frowned slightly. "How'd you two even meet, anyway?"

The couple looked at each other with identical silly grins. Angelina was a little annoyed by this, but waited silently for their response, managing to control her somewhat sour expression.

"Well, said Katie, grinning broadly, "I'd missed my bus back home that day, I think. And I just knew the next one wouldn't be along for _ages_, so when Tony offered me a ride on his moped, I couldn't resist…"

"I just remember seeing this beautiful girl standing in the rain, so I had to stop and see why she was alone and if she needed help," Tony chimed in, though clearly more for Katie than anything else.

Katie's smile widened, and she placed her other hand on top of his. Angelina stared at the odd pile of hands, her expression still carefully blank. "He invited me over for dinner, and he was so cute I just couldn't resist. He's an _excellent_ cook, so if I had any doubts, he won me over right then and there. And then we had our first kiss…"

This was followed by more mushy stares as they reminisced aloud. Angelina tuned out the finer details of the story, more than distracted by their overt displays of affection. She couldn't help feeling a little bitter watching them, and the moody spell she'd recently undergone was starting to catch up with her again.

"Okay, Angelina, what's wrong?" Katie said finally, her gooey grin wilting a bit once she'd noticed her friend's glowering face.

"Nothing," Angelina snapped.

"What's really wrong?" she tried again.

"Honestly, do you have to keep bloody touching each other?" Angelina finally blurted out. "It's nauseating."

"Sorry," Katie said, looking taken aback.

"Don't worry about it," she replied a little roughly.

"Erm, Angie… are you sure you're not still angry with me? I mean, I know I'm making it sound like I just waltzed off and had a lovely holiday, but I really was, you know, upset. Ask Tony. I had a lot of trouble getting over – er – you know, getting over what happened, and knowing that I'd left you."

"I know, I know."

"But—are you okay?"

Angelina's jaw was set, and she was purposely staring out the window so that she faced away from Katie. Her mind drifted a little as she watched the cars roll by on the adjacent street, and she twisted her hair absently between her fingers. Katie waited, now concerned about her friend's obvious distress.

"Yes," she said finally. But it simply wasn't true. She was fighting a losing battle against her own emotions. She pressed her palms against her face. "What's wrong with me?" she whispered tonelessly through her fingers.

"Oh, Angie, what's the matter?" Katie immediately let go of Tony and reached across the table to take Angelina's hand.

"I can't stop thinking about him," she said quietly.

"Look, I know it's hard," Katie said soothingly. "But give yourself some time. It hasn't even been a year yet. You can't expect to—"

"George."

"What?"

"George," she repeated. "I think… I think I'm in love with him."

"Oh." Katie froze, a look of consternation on her face. She bit her lip. "Er… that's… well…." Her face seemed to lose some of its tan before their very eyes as it drained of color, and she stared at Angelina with wide blue eyes.

Angelina pulled her hand away and stood very suddenly. "I need to go," she said, snatching up her little jacket with shaking arms.

"You haven't even eaten," Katie pointed out, still pale from this unexpected revelation. "Go on, sit down."

"I'm not hungry," she said quickly, stuffing he jacket inside her bag. "I'm sorry I haven't been the best lunch date, but I'll catch you up some other time. Nice meeting you, Tony." She swung the bag over her shoulder and left the café.

* * *

George was lying awake again. He hadn't been to sleep at all, but it seemed like he was frozen in a nightmare. His face bore the unmistakable signs of sleep deprivation, but he couldn't relax long enough to fall asleep—his mind was racing. He was desperately torn between what was good and what was right, and what made him happy versus what made him miserable, and the line between all of those things was getting fuzzier every minute.

_Tap, tap, tap._

He had left his door locked for days. He knew she would understand what it meant: no more nighttime meetings. Yet, here was that knock on the door. George contemplated for a bit. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to see her, maybe for just a few minutes.

He unlocked the door.

"Hey," she said, closing the door behind her. Once the darkness had fallen across the room once more, she did not speak for a while, nor did she move. Then, he heard her take a small breath, and she finally spoke again. "Look, I just… I wanted to tell you something."

He waited.

"We've been playing some sort of crazy children's game for a while now, about this whole… this whole… this thing," she continued. "It's wearing me out a bit, to be honest, so I'm just going to go ahead and say it."

Silence.

"Well?" George said finally, breaking the silence himself this time. "Go on, then."

"I'm in love with you."

His heart plummeted quite sharply. This was the last thing he wanted to hear, because it made everything that much harder. Still, he had to actively work to ignore the way his body tingled with these words. This was all too confusing and messy; it was a path better avoided. He sighed heavily.

"Look, Angelina. It's been a rough year. And you and I… we've… helped each other. I know you really cared about Fred, and losing him was hard… but don't you think—?"

"I'm not confused, George," she cut across him rather sharply.

"How do you know?" he countered just as curtly, terrified at the thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn't.

She stared at him for a long time, and once again, he had the eerie feeling that she could see right into his heart. She sat down next to him on the bed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Because I never felt about Fred the way I feel about you."

George looked up sharply. How was he supposed to do this? He moved away from her so she wouldn't see the shake in his resolve.

"Angelina," he said, his voice a little gruffer than he'd expected, "we can't."

There was another pronounced silence as the weight of those three words settled over them.

"Do you love me?" she asked softly.

"It's not about that. Sometimes… sometimes when you know someone really well, there are things you know without ever being told. And no matter what happened between you two, I know that Fred still loved you. That's not something I can just forget. I can't betray him that way."

There was yet another lingering pause. "Is that why you've taken to locking me out?"

"Look… you're right, okay? I can't keep playing this game either. We're not just friends anymore. And that's exactly what wasn't supposed to happen. How can we keep pretending?" He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "How can I keep looking at you, knowing that we couldn't ever…" He tried again. "We've got to stop doing this."

"So you're saying we shouldn't see each other anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut so that he didn't have to see her face. "This is just… this is just something I need right now."

"Okay," Angelina said, her voice calm and level. He opened his eyes to find hers full of fierce resignation. "George, I understand. If that's what you need, then I'll go. I'll leave you alone, I promise."

She rose to her feet, and she'd nearly made it to the door when George seized her by the shoulders. "Wait," he said.

She looked up at him expectantly. Her face was still hard and determined, even though he could see her eyes glimmering a bit in the moonlight. He cursed himself for caving so easily. He just wasn't ready to let her go.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely.

"Me too," she said simply.

Their lips locked together: his, hard and desperate; hers, demanding and wistful. She grasped his face roughly in her hands as his fingers twisted in her soft, wavy hair. She pulled him backwards against the wall, scrambling with desperate fingers to undo the buttons of her jacket. Finally, she shrugged it off her shoulders and it landed softly at her feet. George's arms drew her tightly against him; she was close enough to feel his heartbeat against her chest, but still she wanted more.

"Angie, I love you," he murmured against her lips.

"I know," she whispered.

He pulled away long enough to look at her and see his own desire mirrored in her face. One shared glance said it all: I love you. I need you. I want you.

A burning fire raged inside her, blissfully obliterating every thought or feeling that wasn't George or the delicious sensations he was creating within her. His lips brushed along her jaw, trailing down to press into the soft flesh of her neck. She let out a soft moan as her skin caught the fire; she craved his touch, wanted to feel his hands all over. She pulled away from him just long enough to lift her shirt over her head and he obliged her. His fingers traced her every outline, touching and teasing and caressing the soft, smooth skin on her shoulders, her back, her stomach, her hips…

As his hands played around the waist of her jeans, she undid them and they fell in a heap around her ankles. Deftly, George lifted her out of them and, still kissing, they tumbled onto the bed. Angelina's body thrilled at the hard pressure of his body against hers. Her fingers traced the hard muscles of his torso as his mouth blazed a trail down her front and his hands continued to glide across her skin. Even as her body seared beneath his touch, she pulled him back up to kiss his lips again, exploring him with her own hands.

He rolled onto his back to give her an easier time of it. Angelina followed his example, her palms sliding gently over his skin, which was soft and pleasantly warm. She marveled at how thin he seemed to have gotten as she felt the hard bone of his ribs. She felt his heart thumping quickly beneath her fingers, and she lowered her head to plant a kiss over it. When she glanced up, she found him watching her, his eyes blazing with passion, and yes, love. She knew he really did love her, and it was with this thought that she set out to taste and to feel every inch of him.

She felt his stomach grow taut as she kissed the stretch of skin beneath his navel. She shot him a quick glance, as if silently asking permission, before she let her hand travel over the bulge in his pajama trousers. His body instantly went rigid and he let out a quiet groan. Slowly, teasingly, she slid the thin material off of him and closed her hand around his hard length. She heard his breath quicken and become more labored as she stroked the sensitive flesh, and she leaned over to gently press her lips against it. He tensed again, and she let him relax again before she took him in her mouth.

Another groan tore from his throat and the sheets twisted between his fingers as they balled themselves into fists. She continued her manipulation until she felt him gently, but firmly, push her away. With impressive agility, he flipped her over so that she was underneath him again, and he crushed his lips against hers again as he reached between them and removed the last bits of clothing in their way.

Their eyes met as he positioned himself between her legs, and her body arched beneath him. With this nonverbal encouragement, he slowly pushed himself inside her. Her fingers curled tightly around his shoulders as he filled her.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

She tossed her head back and a long moan escaped her lips. Then she blew out a breath and gave him a nervous grin. "Whew," she said, placing a hand to her forehead.

George chuckled and their lips met again. Her hands gripped his face and drew him closer; her lips pulled sensually at his and their tongues swirled and danced in their mouths. She felt like she was melting with pleasure, and all the unpleasant thoughts of leaving and _couldn't _and _shouldn't_ had been left at the door. They didn't have to think about anything but each other as their bodies intertwined and fell into a slow rhythm.

Angelina clung to him in the dark as he filled all of her senses and brought her to the edge of something tremendous. She reached the edge and tipped over hard, unaware that her nails were digging into his skin, or that she whispered his name to the dark as she came. She felt him collapse on top of her, his head resting against her chest, and felt his own shallow breathing.

Long after she had climbed down and the beads of sweat on her skin had grown cold, Angelina lay still, listening to the soft sounds of the wind rustling through the trees and the first birds starting to chirp. She felt George's arms securely around her, and his deep, rhythmic breaths tickled her shoulder. Her eyes darted sideways, glancing out the window to see that the sky was lightening from deep sapphire to a grey-tinged azure.

She contemplated the fact that this was the first and last time he would ever truly be hers. She knew that what had happened that night hadn't changed the cold truth: they couldn't be together. She also knew that he would want her to stay. But she had seen and felt the pain that she was causing him. He was right. They needed time and space to straighten themselves out and rethink this when they were capable of being more rational. It was selfish and downright silly of her to deny what had to be done.

She slipped out of his arms and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hardly daring to acknowledge what she was about to do. Then, before she could change her mind, she gathered up her clothes from the floor and began getting dressed. As she was pulling on the shirt she had worn there, she stopped. Instead, she grabbed George's shirt off the floor and put it on, tossing her own shirt over a chair.

A single tear slid down her face as she planted one last kiss on his sleeping face. And then, without a final glance backwards, she left the flat.

* * *

The first thing George noticed when he awoke was that it was cold. As he reached to pull more of the covers over himself, he became aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes. Subsequently, the memory of the previous night came back to him, and his eyes shot open.

"Angie?" he said, his arm reaching out of its own accord to touch the empty space beside him.

There was something eerily similar about looking at that empty stretch of sheets and looking across the room at Fred's deserted, unmade bed. His heart constricted a little as his brain registered one devastating, but undeniable fact: Angelina would not be back.

_**A/N: God, you have no idea how glad I am that **_**that's **_**over. Review!**_


	15. Stay

_**A/N Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. This (the penultimate chapter) is a bit of a downer, but please take the time to drop me a line, as I put a lot of thought into this. And so I'll put up the last chapter sooner. :)**_

Disclaimer: Most of the characters and stuff belong to one J.K. Rowling. Talk to my lawyer.

**Chapter Fifteen: Stay**

George sat on his bed in the dark, his back to the wall and his fingers grasping an empty glass. It was a typical Friday night, with nothing to look forward to but an excruciatingly long, ;hard weekend. There was a bit of a dull ache in his heart for what could have been, and what he should have done. Misery was somewhat of a constant now, but presently, the totalizing despair that had consumed him as of late was beginning to let up just a little. On sheer impulse, he chucked the empty glass at the blank wall he'd been staring at for so long. It collided with a satisfying crunch, the shattered pieces raining onto the floor like glitter.

He sighed. He was paralyzed with lethargy; he could fix the mess later. His eye was caught instead by the sudden billowing of the curtains on the window, fluttering and flapping in the spring breeze. Then, as if cued by his very attention to that part of the room, an owl soared through the open window and alighted onto his bed. George retrieved the scroll of parchment and watched impassively as the owl soared away again into the night. After a few moments, he glanced down at the handwriting on the sheet before tossing it onto the existing pile of unopened letters and resuming his stare-down of the wall.

Like the broken glass on the floor, George was a mess. But the mess was his fault. He'd let her go, told her to do it, even. He didn't think about the fact that all the best things about himself that he still had left after Fred would be walking out the door with her. He'd only had a vague idea of how much she'd meant to him, he now realized, how much he needed her. Now that she was gone, the last of the threads that held him together were slowly unraveling, revealing the empty, hollow shell beneath all the charades.

It was all his fault.

Why had he done it? At the time, the overwhelming sense of guilt seemed insurmountable. Fred had only been gone for just over a year, and George was already snogging his girl. What kind of person did that make him? The question had eaten steadily away at him after their visit to Hogwarts, when he was alone in the night with memories of his dead brother and away from Angelina's comforting embrace. He'd felt sick with himself, betraying his brother for some instant gratification. Part of him wished he could take it all back, and worst of all, part of him knew that he would do it all over again given another chance. He _had_ to push her away, out of respect for Fred and to preserve his own sanity.

The latter wasn't going so well. It was Friday. He was alone and white and trembling while the room spun slowly around him in nauseating circles. He didn't just long for Angelina. He needed her, like he'd never needed anything else in his life.

He'd let her slip away, and now it was too late.

He had managed three weeks before he'd finally given in. After those three weeks of hell, he'd decided that every bit of pain he'd ever suffer was worth not losing her. So he went over to the Ministry to find her at work, because he simply couldn't wait. His stomach was in knots by the time he got off the elevator, wondering what he could say, how he could take back the things he'd said to her.

When he arrived on her floor, her desk was empty. He saw the old man who had directed him the first time he'd visited her at work bustling past and moved to stop him.

"Excuse me," he said a little breathlessly. "I was just… I was wondering—is Angelina here?"

The man wrinkled his bushy eyebrows. "Angelina? Oh, yes, that's right, Angelina. The—the girl." He gestured towards the empty desk. "No, she's gone, actually."

"Gone?" George repeated, checking his watch. It was only two-thirty. "When's she coming back, then?"

"She isn't. She resigned nearly two weeks ago. Is there something I can help you with instead?"

George tried hard to recover from the dizzying sensation of being slapped hard in the face. Why on earth would Angelina have left such a high-profile job, and on such short notice? There was also the plummeting feeling of disappointment. After so much anxiety and excitement, he wasn't going to see her after all.

"No," George said. "No."

He'd go by her flat, he thought. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he turned on his heels and hurried out of the pristine Ministry building to Apparate to Angelina's flat. He stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering if he really wanted to do this. But his arm stretched forward of its own accord, and, heart hammering, he knocked.

There was no answer. He listened very carefully for sounds from within: the shuffling of footsteps, voices, anything that would signify that there was life inside. There was nothing. He raised his arm to knock again, and as his fist hit the door, it swung open with a soft creak.

That was odd. Surely the Johnsons weren't in the habit of leaving their door unlocked? Maybe they had placed certain protection spells around the flat to ward off malicious strangers? He hesitated before lightly pushing the door open further and peering inside.

It was empty.

George walked inside, greeted by a bare wooden floor and blank white walls. Sunlight poured through the curtainless windows. Stunned, he walked through the entire flat, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms…

"Angelina?" he called hopelessly. His voice echoed mockingly back at him, ricocheting off the bleak walls. He continued walking, until he reached Angelina's bedroom. The door was ajar.

George walked inside, struck anew by the devastating barrenness of the room that had always seemed so lively. This was where it had all begun, for better or for worse. His mind was filled with fresh memories of that lavender scent, the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips, and the taste of her lips as his eyes took in the blank stretch of wall against which her bed had stood.

"Damn it, Angelina," he whispered, his voice dripping with despair. He collapsed to his knees, sunk by the weight of regret and longing.

And now all he had was a dark room and a shattered glass.

* * *

Pain did not get easier with time, George reflected from underneath a huddle of blankets. He had taken to sleeping most of his time away. There simply wasn't much worth being awake for.

It had been a year since he'd last seen Angelina. Since then, he'd avoided family gatherings as much as he could get away with it. He couldn't handle all the joy and happiness, not when he'd now lost two of the people he cared about dearly. He couldn't celebrate Fleur's pregnancy, or Ginny and Hermione's graduation, or Harry being appointed Head Auror. But he felt particularly morose at Ron and Hermione's engagement party. He was ashamed of it, but he couldn't be happy for his little brother, knowing that he'd given all that away. He was so drowned in self-pity that he couldn't stand to be around when his family was enjoying the happiness they deserved after so much pain.

Sometimes it all felt like a tempting dream. He would pick up the shirt she'd left on the chair every night, the only evidence that it had all been real, that Angelina was still out there, alive and warm and smelling like lavender. Part of him wished she'd never come back after she'd left Hogwarts that fateful morning, and part of him was so filled with longing for his one remaining link—the one person who understood him the way his twin had. And he didn't know what to do, except sit and drink and wait.

It might have been a few days, or it might have been a few months. Time was hard to tell when you were in a waking nightmare; it just loomed ominously ahead, dark, unyielding, interminable. All he knew was that someone knocked on his door. He couldn't help the way his heart constricted and began to hammer in his chest. He tried to calm himself, tell himself that it was just Ron or Lee coming to ask something about the shop. But all he could remember was a dark, slender form slinking through the shadows and placing a coat on the chair. Still trying to suppress this desperate hope that had bubbled up inside him, he unlocked the door.

"Hi, Ginny," he said tonelessly. Disappointment came crashing down upon him—try as he might, he just hadn't been able to stop hoping.

"George," his sister said, inviting herself inside and closing the door, "I'm really worried about you, and Mum is nearly going spare. We haven't seen or heard from you in weeks, and Lee said he was concerned as well. Listen, you don't have to deal with this alone. You need us, and we need you. Just come back home, and we can do this together."

"No," George said, sinking back down onto the bed. "No, I couldn't. Listen, losing Fred was hard on all of you, and now that everyone's starting to move on and be happy… I couldn't mess that up for you with my moping and carrying about."

"George, you're our brother," Ginny said, sitting down next to him. "You wouldn't be messing _anything_ up by coming back, we'd just be glad to know you're okay. You can't just stay here by yourself, alone and miserable. None of us could ever be happy, knowing you were here. Let us help."

"If you think that going home is going to make me feel better, you're wrong. I'm not trying to be a burden on anyone, or make you all worry. I just want you all to go on and be happy… without me."

"_No one wants that_, don't you see?" Ginny said vehemently. "We already lost Fred. We can't lose you too."

"Well I've already lost everything, everything that mattered!" he blurted out a little too loudly. He took a moment to regain his composure, during which he noticed the tears swimming in Ginny's eyes.

"No," she whispered pleadingly, willing him to see reason. "Look, you still have the shop. And you still have Lee, and you still have us."

"None of that matters, not now that I've lost Fred and…" He stopped himself just in time. The only thing that saved him was that it hurt too much to say her name.

"George," Ginny said, looking startled, "Did something happen?"

He wiped his face with his palms in the same anguished way Angelina used to and sighed. "Ginny, it's late. Shouldn't you be at home?"

Ginny looked up at him, dawning realization etched upon her face. "It's Angelina, isn't it?"

He knew immediately that his face had given him away. The jolt of shock he received at Ginny's words was unavoidable. He simply stared at her, lost for words.

Ginny took her turn to sigh. "I walked in on you two snogging when you came to visit Hogwarts. You left the door open. What happened? Were you two—?"

"No. Yes. Sort of." George was quiet for a moment, consumed by his thoughts. Then he said, "The worst thing is, it's my fault. I told her to leave. I made her go because I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing or not. I still don't know what's right, but part of my brain is beating me up for still even thinking about her."

"Because she went out with Fred," Ginny said sympathetically. George did not ask how she knew this. "Listen, I didn't really know Angelina very well. I mean, we had a chat here and there when she was Quidditch captain, you know, and I'm sure she's very nice. But what I do know is that you weren't miserable a couple months ago. You were grieving, yes, but you were here, and sometimes even smiling. I'll never forget that day you came to Hogwarts—you were absolutely glowing. And if she could make you feel like that… if she could make you happy in a way none of us can, then I think that's what Fred would want. He'd forgive you for being with his ex-girlfriend, but he wouldn't forgive you for throwing your life away like this."

"It's too late. She's gone."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. I went looking for her at her job, and then at her parents' flat, but she was gone. Disappeared without a trace."

"If she feels as strongly about you as you do about her, she'll come back. But in the meantime, you've got to try. You've got to keep going. We need you too much for you to give up."

Despite Ginny's comforting words, the next year proved to be no better. He spent most of his time sitting at Fred's grave, no matter how cold it was or how hard it was raining. The flat had become akin to a prison cell of torture, and he spent so much time avoiding his family that he could not go home. Lee and Verity were doing most of the handling of the shop, since Ron had finally gone into Auror training and George was so recluse. His brothers, sister, and parents would drop by the shop from time to time, only to find that George wasn't there. His investment in product development had somewhat dwindled, so it had been a while since the shop had had a new item out on the shelves.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley cornered him and demanded that he return to the Burrow. George slept in Bill's old room so that he didn't have to go into the room he had shared with Fred all his life. This new arrangement proved to be a challenge however, with his mother fretting and fussing over him every second of the day. Soon, it became a lot easier to just return to work, where he could have some space and something to occupy his time with.

It took time, but he eventually fell back into the routine of his life. After hearing George's repeated complaints about being back at home, Lee offered to move into the flat above the shop with him. They pitched the idea to Mrs. Weasley, who, despite obvious reluctance, acquiesced. George was quite pleased with this arrangement. Now that someone else was there with him, the amount of time he spent moping was limited to when Lee was asleep, and it was hard to be lonely when his open-mouthed snores reverberated from the very walls.

Celia had taken to visiting the shop on the regular again, sensing that he was starting to come out of the funk he'd been in. It was nice to ride down the country road on a Sunday morning in that car of hers, and just forget that he was miserable. He felt the best outside the world of magic, when he and Celia would just sit around on the shores of the lake munching on the apples they'd picked and throwing the cores into the water for scavenging birds. It was these times that gave him the strength to face going back to work the rest of the week.

He also spent a lot of time with his baby niece, Victoire. It was very soothing to play with the laughing infant, and the simplicity of childhood amusement was sometimes enough to help him forget his troubles. And through this, he reconnected with his brother and his sister-in-law, and over time, with the rest of the family.

He was sleeping much better these days, but he still had those nights where he would hold onto the shirt Angelina had left and think about her, wondering what she was doing wherever she was, and if she still thought about him as often as he thought about her. Part of him just wanted to forget her and wished she'd never looked back that fateful day at Hogwarts. It would have been so much easier to just cope with the loss of his twin. Maybe he would have been in a better place by now, and his grief wouldn't seem quite so profound.

But another part of him, perhaps the same part that hoped and longed for her to knock on the door again so that he could see her and feel her and hear her voice one more time, was terrified of forgetting her. Afraid that if he stopped thinking about her, he would forget all the wonderful things that had once made him so happy, like the sound of her voice or the scent of her hair. He wanted to tuck her memory away and cherish it forever, even if it meant that he would lose his mind with misery by doing so.

Still, he was better. He was even able to go to his sister's engagement party and pretend that it didn't bother him that the rest of his family had gotten spectacular jobs and were building families of their own while his future still looked so bleak and unhappy. He had to make the falsely cheerful smile he kept plastered to his face as realistic as possible, while he wasted away with loneliness on the inside.

Things only improved as he got so used to being miserable that he barely registered the feeling of restless discontent that permeated his life. The serenity he felt on those Sunday afternoons with Celia was starting to feel suspiciously like happiness, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he would be okay.

"You always seem like you're just waiting for something," she observed one day, breaking off little pieces of potato bread to scatter on the ground for the birds. "I wish I knew what it was so I could bring it to you."

George lay on his back, his head resting on his arms. "I guess ever since Fred died, I've been waiting for something… magical to happen."

Celia turned on her side to face him and propped herself up on her elbow. She gestured out towards the tall stalks of grass swaying gently in the summer breeze, the trees blossoming with flowers of every shade, and the sparkling ripples breaking the surface of the vast lake.

"I think this is pretty magical," she said.

As he breathed in the fresh summer air, colored with the mingled scent of grass and pollen and water, he realized that she was right. It may not have been the type of "magic" he thought he'd been looking for. It wouldn't necessarily bring Fred back, or soothe the ache in his heart overnight. But it was all the little pleasures in life that he'd been missing all the while he'd been dwelling on his negative feelings.

George smiled and rolled onto his side to face her as well. "I think you're right," he said. He reached out to lace his fingers through hers.

It was the sunlight, and the butterflies, and the heavy perfume of flowers that he remembered about their first kiss.

"Celia…" he said softly. His hand was still clasped in hers, and she had somewhat of a misty look about her face. He could tell she had been waiting, for years, even. She hadn't come to the shop for Fred. "Celia… I'm a mess. A complete mess."

"I know," she replied. He knew she did. "It's okay. We'll find a way to fix it…" She held up their clasped hands. "Together."

With one whispered word, he accepted her. He let her in. "Okay."

She didn't mind that he was broken and damaged. She helped him learn to smile again, and waited patiently with him when he couldn't. He admired her for that. She always knew precisely the right thing to say, or when not to say anything at all. She understood when he needed to be alone. She was everything he needed.

That was precisely the problem. It was a problem that he managed to ignore for months.

But tonight he couldn't sleep because it was so heavy on his mind. He'd taken her out that evening to celebrate their one year anniversary. And here she was, lying peacefully in his arms—the woman who'd given everything in her, and invested so much into caring for him. This, he reminded himself, was why he had to do it.

He called her name in the darkness, his thumbs still twisting the curly strands of her hair between his fingers. She whispered back to him, twisting to turn those beautiful jade orbs, silver in the moonlight, onto him. Looking back at her, George couldn't imagine how he could let himself do this a second time.

"I really care about you a lot," his mouth said. He felt as if he were watching the scene from a distance, his body frozen with horror at the very idea of what was about to happen. "But I think…" he continued, "I think it's for the wrong reasons."

Celia frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I…" He swallowed. Undoubtedly he was going to regret this in the morning. "You found me at my lowest. I was vulnerable, and I was breaking into pieces. You were the only one who understood, you know, the only one who was able to patch me back up. And I think that what I feel for you is more… more of a dependency and less about me… being in love with you. I think you're absolutely wonderful, and you shouldn't waste that on me. You deserve better."

He had intended for all that to come out a good deal less cliché—he hadn't meant for it to sound like a page from a romance novel.

Celia ignored this for what was clearly a more pressing concern. "You're breaking up with me," she observed.

George said nothing, waiting guiltily for her to fall apart in his arms. What he didn't expect, however, was what she actually said.

"George, I know. I knew the whole time. I just… I—look, I wanted to be with you so much that I hoped you might… I hoped things might change, or that you would feel differently. But I'm not stupid." She sighed. "Who was she?"

"Who?" asked George, surprised.

"Angelina. The name you kept saying in your sleep."

George winced. He wondered whether Lee had ever heard him do this as well, and felt his face flush a deep scarlet.

"I'm sorry," he said with grave sincerity.

"I know. It's okay." She touched his arm. "Really, it is. I was expecting it. Don't feel bad. Go on to sleep, I'll still stay with you."

He murmured thanks, for so much more than her words. And for the first time in what felt like years, George slept.


	16. New Beginnings

_**A/N: I'd like to thank all of you for your wonderful support, especially the people who regularly took the time to review just about every chapter, including CrzyAngelchic, Flameonurass-TruSC, sassyne, and obsessedmum. And thanks as well to everyone else who reviewed and made my first fic a truly awesome experience. I enjoyed the ride. If you read the story, please be so kind as to tell me what you thought if you haven't already. Anyway, without further ado, the conclusion.**_

Disclaimer: Haven't owned any of the characters and places recognizable from the Harry Potter series, and still do not.

**Chapter Sixteen: New Beginnings**

"Good morning," George said in surprise, shielding his eyes from the brightly lit shop. He'd woken up some fifteen minutes previously; he vaguely remembered Celia waking him up to tell him that she was leaving and that he would need to get up for work soon. He must have gone back to sleep after that, because the next time he'd looked at his clock, it was already eight-thirty. He'd planned to go down and unlock the door for Lee and run back upstairs to shower, but the shop was already open.

"I was here early," said Lee with a grin, "figured I might as well get started." Lee tossed the keys to George, who caught them deftly in his hand. "Figured you'd have been – er – _up late_ last night what with your anniversary and all." He gave George a knowing smirk.

"Actually, we ended it," George admitted.

"Oh," said Lee, his smirk fading. "I'm really sorry. You okay, mate?" He looked very much concerned, nervous almost, as though worried his friend might not be able to handle such a loss.

"Fine, actually," George replied. He meant it this time. "I'm going up to shower. I'll be back down."

He returned upstairs to the flat, where he shed his pajamas and tossed them haphazardly across the unmade bed. A scalding shower was able to wake him in a way that not even the bright lights from the shop had been able to. He'd started to prefer longer showers, fancying them some sort of small vacation from reality. But he was already late, and Lee was already there, so he didn't indulge himself.

Once he stepped out of the shower, he dried himself off and threw a towel around his waist as he went to the mirror to brush his teeth. He picked up his toothbrush, but only got it halfway to his mouth when he stopped. For the first time in years, he looked at his reflection—really looked at it. His face and torso looked thin, puny, and pale, and it was quite clear that he hadn't shaved in a couple of weeks. It was pathetic. He couldn't see how Celia had managed to put up with him for as long as she had.

He slowly lowered his arm, letting the toothpaste slide off his toothbrush. What was he doing? Here he was, twenty-five years old, and he had nothing going for him. The store wasn't the same source of pride and joy that it had been when he and Fred had first created it. He'd all but ruined his love life. And he'd pushed away just about every friend he might have had. Damn, if it all didn't feel so _pointless_.

He contemplated his reflection further. Was it too late to somehow change things? There had to be, somewhere in him, the energy to pull himself out of the hole he'd dug. There had to be some reason for him to decide there was something out there waiting for him. He was wilting in what should have been the prime of his life. Wasn't there a way out?

When he'd finally stopped dwelling on his image in the mirror, he finished getting dressed and headed back down to the store. In the half hour since he'd left it, it had gotten _packed_. He'd forgotten that school started up soon, and kids would be on the prowl to find innovative ways to cause trouble during the year. Who was he to deny them? After all, this was why he and Fred had opened the shop in the first place. The legacy lived on, even when George felt like giving up.

Resigning himself, he threw on the standard WWW robes and went out to face the music. He took the cash register over from Verity so that she could restock and manage the displays. And as he sorted out the coins inside, he felt soothed, a little. It was easier to remember why he had sacrificed so much to be able to do this. Lee gave him the thumbs up from where he was across the room, helping the customers. George grinned back, feeling genuinely good for once. Fred would have been proud.

It was time for work.

He was counting money and bagging items at top speed. He was so efficient that he could do this without so much as looking at anyone, though he tried to manage a smile and a "Thanks, come again" as each person left. He was so caught up in the rhythm of the work that when someone refused to adhere to the pattern by not handing over the product for him to bag, he felt a jab of annoyance.

"How can I help you?" he said a tad impatiently. He finally looked up at the customer… and his heart stopped.

"By taking a minute to say hello to an old friend," she said simply.

The feeling of satisfaction had evaporated on the spot and was replaced by something else entirely. All the color left his face, and he stared wide-eyed at the disconcertingly familiar face before him. It couldn't be. It wasn't. How could it be? Maybe he had just been hoping so hard that he'd convinced himself that she was here.

He tried to speak, but his throat seized up and all that came out was, "Merlin."

The woman – the hallucination – the dream slowly straightened and removed the pair of sunglasses from her face. "Hi, George. Listen, I… I know you said we shouldn't see each other, and I-I've tried to stay away. But I…" She cleared her throat. "I couldn't. I had to see you."

George stared, his face a mask of incredulity.

"I'm sorry," she said, misinterpreting his silence. "I'm not here to intrude or anything, I promise. I was talking to Lee, and he told me about your… about the person you're seeing." She bit her lip, obviously looking for a response that he didn't give. "Okay," she said slowly, "I've seen you. I'll just… go." Clutching her purse close to her, she turned tail and began making her way back through the crowd.

Hallucination or not, George wasn't going to let her leave again. Before he was even aware of it, his feet carried him away from the register and the line of confused people still waiting to make their purchases, and towards Angelina. He threw his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his chest. It was everything he'd ever imagined. He could feel her arms around him, feel her trembling beneath him… It was all so real, but it felt like the greatest dream he'd ever had.

"Angelina," he said, his voice rougher than he'd expected. He relished the way her name rolled off his tongue; he'd forgotten how nice it sounded, and how fitting it was for her. "Angelina, I can't tell you what it's been like. I've missed you more than you can imagine."

"I'm pretty sure I can," Angelina replied, wiping her eyes. He noticed how much smaller she seemed, and there was an air of fatigue about her. He pulled her back into his embrace with feverish desperation, and she clung to him in return. They embraced for what felt like years, but George felt as though he might never let go.

"I was afraid you might never come back," he said. He was surprised by how difficult it was to talk. He was overwhelmed by powerful emotions he'd forgotten how to feel, and even forgotten he was capable of feeling. His head was spinning was the surrealism of it all.

"No, I—I thought I needed to stay away, because I knew that I would still…" She hastily looked away.

George gently took her face in his hands. "What?" he prompted her.

"Look, I didn't come back to cause any trouble or anything. I thought I would just see you and leave. You're busy, and that bloke over there looks like he'll curse you if you don't get back over to the register."

"I don't care. I've been waiting for this for four years. Please don't leave."

"No, you don't understand. You're probably… You've moved on. You don't need me sticking around and hanging the past over your head."

"What on earth's given you that idea?"

"I mean, your… your girlfriend wouldn't want—"

George shook his head dismissively. "Angelina Johnson, if you think there's anyone in the world who could ever replace you, you're a lot crazier than I ever gave you credit for."

She looked up at him, hope glimmering in her eyes. He thought about all the times he'd thought about seeing her again, holding her again, kissing her again… God… were her lips just as soft and sweet as they had been? Could he let himself live through this moment without finding out?

No.

His lips crashed down upon hers, tears, skin, lips, tongue, colliding and mixing and sliding together in a hot haze of euphoric passion. Either it was the most incredible feeling he'd felt in his life, or he had forgotten what incredible feelings felt like. This was real, and she was here. He'd never leave.

Bystanders had other thoughts, however.

"Oi! Get a room!" someone shouted, jerking them somewhat back to reality. It had been so easy to forget that other people were there too, people who could see them, but not share in the tremendousness of the moment.

"Come," he said quietly. He took her by the arm and led her to the storage room, where he closed the door. Lee could take care of the customers. He wasted no time in pulling her back into his arms.

"George," Angelina said as his lips sought hers again. A moan escaped her as she tried and failed to pull herself away. She had spent so long denying herself of him that it seemed her body wouldn't tolerate another second of it. His arms felt so strong and secure and familiar around her body. Her breaths came in sharp gasps for the few seconds their lips parted, but not nearly long enough for her to collect enough of her wits to tell him what she needed to say.

"G-George," she said again, trying to ignore the feel of his lips on her neck. "Listen, I… I came to say goodbye."

This caught his attention immediately. His head snapped up, and she saw the horrible fear and dread in his eyes. "Goodbye?" he repeated.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said shakily. "I'm going away."

"Away?" he repeated again, a feeling of trepidation slowly filling him, more powerful, even, than the feelings he'd just experienced. "You're leaving?"

She could see how much she was about to destroy him, and she couldn't do it. She knew how horrible their separation had been for her, and she could see in his face that it had taken a toll on him as well. She couldn't leave him, not when their time together was so short and so sweet compared to the eternity of misery they'd both endured for the past four – almost five – years.

"No," she said softly. She ran her fingers gently through his hair. "No, I don't have to. Not now." Just so she understood that it was worth it, she pulled his face back to hers and kissed him again.

This time, George did not kiss her back. "Angelina, what are you talking about?"

She sighed. "While I was away, I played reserve Chaser for Puddlemere. And they offered me a spot on the team, which means I have to do a mandatory year-long training in Banbridge. But I can't leave you again."

"Angie, don't be stupid. This is what you've always wanted. You can't give it up just for me. It's my fault for letting you leave in the first place."

"_You_ don't be stupid, you don't have to punish yourself—"

George cupped her face gently in his hands, his eyes blazing into hers. "This is your lifelong dream. I can't take that away from you. Listen to me. Angie… Angelina, I love you. What kind of person would I be if I let you give that up? A year is nothing compared to what we've been through. Just – just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you'll come back. I'll be fine. I can get through anything, just as long as I know you'll be back."

"I promise," she said gravely. "Promise me something in return, then."

"Yeah?"

"Promise me… promise me that you'll still be mine when I get back. Promise me you'll wait for me."

George looked at her, his eyes full of adoration, as he tenderly swept the hair out of her eyes. "I never stopped," he murmured, and their lips reconnected in a softer, less urgent kiss.

"Why did you leave?" asked George suddenly. "You left everything. Your job, your flat… you even left Alicia."

"I had to get out of here," she answered a little distantly. "I had to get away from everything that would remind me of you, because it was the only way I wouldn't lose my mind. My parents and I went up to Nottingham for a bit of a change of scenery, and I decided to take the reserve spot on Puddlemere. I figured if nothing else would make me happy, Quidditch would. And eventually Kelby missed one too many practices, so they sacked him and offered me the position.

"How have you been? What have I missed here?"

George chose to ignore the first question, assuming it was fairly obvious what its answer was. "Plenty. Harry's Head of the Auror Department, and he married my sister. Ron and Hermione got married—"

"Where is he? I didn't see him when I came in."

"He left forever ago, to join the Auror Department with Harry. Bill and Fleur had a daughter, and they're due for another baby in a few months. And Lee's still hanging in there. I was convinced for a while that he and Alicia have got something going on, but he's still denying it. Have you said anything to her since you've been back?"

"No. When I returned, there was only one thing on my mind." She looked away rather sheepishly. "You didn't mention Percy," she pointed out.

"Oh, he's the same old pompous git," he said, but she didn't miss the note of affection in his voice for his older brother. It gave her some satisfaction to know she could still read him this way. "He's doing a great job at the Ministry, Kingsley's got nothing but good things to say."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What have you been doing?"

"Ahh," he said uneasily, "that's not important."

But Angelina knew what that meant. She grasped his arms, tears forming in her eyes again. "I'm sorry I left you." She smiled sadly. "I just keep messing up when it comes to you. You make it hard to think straight." She paused. "We've got a whole day before I leave…"

George gave his wand a little twirl. "And a locked door…" He gave his eyebrows a mischievous wiggle.

"Just what are you suggesting?"

She let out a playful scream as he pushed her backwards. A box fell, and several loud cracks alerted them to the fact that it was a box of wildfire whiz-bangs.

"Lovely," said Angelina as one danced near her face.

"Don't worry, it adds to the mood," George said with a grin as a great dragon breathed fire above their heads.

"Well, aren't you charming?" she said, laughing. "If this wasn't so badly orchestrated, I'd think you planned it. Well, on second thought…"

George silenced her with his lips. They spent a long time making up for their time apart, drinking each other in with their eyes and mouths and noses and hands.

"Angelina," he said after a while, his lips hardly leaving hers. "Let's get married."

She laughed as his lips met hers again. "You're mad!" she managed to slip in between kisses.

"Yes," he said, kissing her again. "What do you say?"

"I say you've gone completely and utterly insane, George Weasley," she said, still chortling.

"Is that a yes?"

Angelina pulled back from him, laughing again. Whatever nerves he was feeling after having asked the question, he couldn't help smiling; her laugh was sweet and familiar, and just the sight of her smile made him feel giddy. Her hand grazed the side of his face, and she looked at him contemplatively.

"I guess we're both mental," she said with a lopsided grin. George waited. "Yes, you silly. That would be a yes."

* * *

Angelina felt the wind blow her hair back, unraveling it from its ponytail. Her limbs were numb from cold and her face burned from the icy impact. But none of that mattered. None of it could matter. There was one thing on her mind right now, one thing in the world that mattered, and it was right there at her fingertips.

Her outstretched hand closed around the big red ball, and she used all her strength to pull out of the dive. Up and up she soared. She could barely unclench her fingers from the ball, it was so cold, and the wind ripped through her Quidditch robes as if they were sheer. She was closing in on the golden hoop. She wondered momentarily if she would even be able to lift her arm. And then it all went dark.

"Johnson! Johnson, are you okay?"

She opened her eyes. Everything was blurry and out of focus. She could feel the sticky mud beneath her, coating her arms and legs, and she was frozen stiff. The pain in her shoulder made her sharply aware that she must have been hit by a Bludger. She brought her uninjured hand up to her forehead as she tried to orient herself and her vision cleared. The first thing she saw clearly was the ring sparkling brightly on her finger, and she smiled serenely to herself.

She was alive. She was playing Quidditch. And somewhere, in a busy little shop in London, there was someone dreaming about her, and waiting for her to come home.

"Never been better."

THE END


End file.
